


Signed, Sealed, Delivered

by mprods



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gallavich, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Personal Growth, Slow Burn, prison pen pals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28769178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mprods/pseuds/mprods
Summary: Ian Gallagher made a lot of mistakes in his 22 years on earth, but writing to Mickey Milkovich wasn’t one of them.---Or, the one where Ian and Mickey become prison pen pals.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Lip Gallagher, Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & The Gallaghers, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 231
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Welcome to my new fic!  
> Basically, the central inspiration for this revolves around the idea of IxM initally meeting (like getting to know each other) as pen pals - then friends - and finally lovers. 
> 
> Everything is the same, expect it isn’t. The AU follows canon a little loosely, but it’s pretty faithful to most of the major plot points of the show. Whatever changes made will be explained as the story develops.  
> I love fics with visual elements and I had a ton of fun adding them to my first fic, so they’re added here too. They aren't integral to the story, but i think they turned out really cool (I love them so much). 
> 
> I only started writing creatively this month, so this is definitely still an adventure, but I’ve had the time of my life diving head first into it and I hope you’ll get some enjoyment out of it too.  
> Ana a massive thank you Leilah, my fic guru. 
> 
> Comments are love!  
> Xx

After a year of parole, Ian Gallagher was finally free. 

Well.. almost.

Today marked Ian’s last check in with his parole officer, and while it wouldn’t change much of his day to day, he couldn't say he wasn’t relieved as hell to be done with the whole thing. 

No more monthly reminders of just how badly he could could fuck up his life if he wasn’t careful; of how untrustworthy his brain could be.

“Hey it’s my favorite ex-con, you excited to finally be able to leave the state again?” asked his brother Lip as soon as Ian left his room, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he made his way to the bathroom. 

“Yeah. I’m heading west as soon as I leave Larry’s office, good luck with rent ‘cause you ain’t seeing me again.” Ian murmured around his toothbrush, mouth full of toothpaste. 

“Ah, give a crook a little leeway and he’ll turn his back even on family. That’s cold.”

Heading to the kitchen, Ian passed by Lip sitting on the island stool and gave his shoulder a playful shove, laughing as the man quickly tightened his grip on the mug in his hand. 

“You talked to Fiona, yet?” the redhead asked as he made his way around the counter, opening the cabinet to get his favorite bowl. He made a mental note to add granola to the shopping list, and apparently milk when he opened the fridge to an almost empty carton. 

“Yeah, she said to stop by at 6 and that you don’t have to bring anything.” 

Their older sister had insisted they all commemorate, just like they’d done when he’d gotten out a year ago.

“We gotta celebrate, Ian. Even if this doesn’t seem like a win to you, it is!” she’d said when he protested the idea. 

Even though Fiona always had her hands full between work and raising Liam -- and more often not Debbie’s 3 year old daughter Franny, she still never missed an opportunity to get the whole family together. With Lip and him out of the house and Carl always in and out of juvie, the Gallagher siblings weren’t always around each other as they once had been. 

“Ok. I’m meeting with Larry at 4 so I’ll probably just head straight over.” Ian told his brother as he stood and ate his breakfast, planning out his day. 

Most of his time off consisted of the same schedule:  
Breakfast - a 5k jog around Foss park - shower - laundry - market - cooking dinner - video games or a movie - bed. 

Once a month he’d add the mandatory check in with his parole officer Larry Seaver. 

It wasn’t exciting and it definitely wasn’t how Ian thought he’d be spending his days at 22, but it worked. It was functional. Most importantly, It meant he had stability. 

Ian could go through the motions in his sleep, and oftentimes, it felt like he did. 

**

“Mr. Gallagher, I truly admire the way you’ve committed to reestablishing your life this past year.” Larry said to Ian as soon he sat down. 

Larry’s office was small but the man’s messiness made it feel almost unbearably cramped. Piles of paperwork overflowing on the too large desk, boxes filled with files stacked against the walls. Ian always felt like he had to shrink himself in order to fit the space. But Larry never minded, seemingly at home in the disorder. 

He was looking at Ian with such a sincere smile, the redhead noted, that it was what he’d imagine a proud dad would look like when his favorite son did something remarkable. Safe to say it wasn’t an expression he’d ever seen on Frank - the closest being when he and Lip managed to help the drunk pull off an especially tricky scam. 

“I’ve gotten excellent feedback from your coworkers, your doctors have assured me you’re prioritizing your mental health, and you’ve never missed a single one of our appointments.” Larry went on, resting his folded hands on top of his stomach as he spoke, leaning back on his chair. “You didn’t let past transgressions get in your way. It’s admirable and it’s not something I see often in young parolees such as yourself.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Seaver.” Ian said honestly. The readjustment after his time in prison had been much more challenging than he’d anticipated, but Ian could acknowledge all he'd been able to accomplish since.

He and Lip had their own apartment now, in a considerably less shitty part of the South Side. He’d found a job he enjoyed. He was on a regiment of pills that made him feel good, level. 

“I think a lot of young men could take a page from your book, Mr. Gallagher. Men that are soon going to find themselves in the same crossroads you faced a year ago.” 

Ian watched as the large man looked around his desk, muttering “here you are” as he pulled out a folder from under the pile in front of him. 

He liked Larry and as far as parole officers went he was probably the best he could have hoped for. Kind and helpful, the older gentleman seemed to be in a good mood every time Ian had walked through his doors.

So when he’d asked him to participate in the outreach program he’d set up, Ian felt he really had no choice but to agree.

“It’s called Next Chapters,” the man said, handing him a [packet](https://64.media.tumblr.com/28ed97fcf5bd52103d7ad33da268c3d3/24058aa3205c8b85-54/s1280x1920/9efe63b16804e3f2ebb8bd0657941f666caed6cc.jpg), “the intention of the program is to connect former parolees who have built successful lives for themselves after prison, to current young inmates selected by the parole board, all at most a year away from being released.” 

“Connect how?” Ian asked as he flipped through the pages. 

“Through emails, or letters, that’s up to each volunteer. We’ll provide you with a profile of the inmate and they’ll receive one as well. Only basic information, name - age.. but if it makes you feel more comfortable, you can choose to be anonymous. Any information you wish to share is entirely your decision.”

So basically a pen pal, Ian figured. 

He’d had one in the 3rd grade, a boy named Keiko from Hawaii. Ian’s teacher used to collect their letters every month and he’d anxiously wait for his own to come. At the time, Ian even made plans to visit his long distant friend. He’d see the volcanoes, learn to surf. He hadn’t really realized how completely out of the realm of possibility that was for a poor boy from the south side. 

Then 4th grade came around and Ian’s new teacher didn’t continue the extra curricular. Eventually, the little redhead forgot all about Keiko and Hawaii. 

“Here’s a list of the eligible inmates i think you’ll be the most successful with. Like I’ve said, you’ll get a basic profile, so as you can see there’s a photo,” Larry pointed to the top profile on the page, his finger almost reaching the small square with a man’s face, “their name, what prison they’re in, and right below that you’ll find their age, how much time that particular participant has before release and how much time he’s been in.”

Ian went down the list as the parole officer continued his explanation of the program.

“I believe it’s important for the volunteers to know how long the men they’ll be taking to have been away, so that you all can better understand how to reach out to them.” 

The redhead could see that most of the men were somewhat close to his age, though they ranged from around 19 to 28. Some having been only in prison for a year, others for close to 10. 

He didn’t really know what he should be looking for, how to pick which inmate to write to - what criteria to use. He wasn’t expecting to recognize any of the faces, and he didn’t, but when he got to the third page a name he knew caught his attention, a last name, specifically. 

**[Mikhailo “Mickey” Aleksandr Milkovich](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1e2f7baad05cbec191130567482e1165/1afc814a7e02e2ba-3a/s1280x1920/6320140e1a3d40e152f8ec1064727a3bc5943ee9.jpg)**  
Age: 24  
Set to be paroled in 10 months  
Time served: 5 years

Milkovich. As in Mandy Milkovich. This was probably one of Mandy’s brothers, Ian thought. 

He and Mandy had been close during High School, before his life blew apart, that is. She was the first friend he’d come out to. After that, Mandy and Ian had become almost inseparable. She’d visit him at work, eat dinners at their house whenever he'd invite her. They’d play video games at her house.. 

In fact, looking back, he could just make out her brother Mickey, though the boy was more a blur than a real memory. He’d be at the house sometimes when Ian was there, arguing with Mandy, kicking them out of the living room. Ian remembered the bad attitude, the dirty face, his piercing blue eyes.

5 years. That meant he must have gone in when he was still pretty young. Probably right around the time Ian had stopped talking to Mandy, that he’d basically stopped talking..

Ian was pulled out his thoughts when he heard Larry call him. 

“So, you have your pick, Mr. Gallagher?”

**

Ian had no idea how to write a letter. That became abundantly clear to him the moment he actually started trying. He’d stared at the notes app on his phone for about 25 minutes and all that’d come out of it was a proper introduction, which he was fairly certain was completely unnecessary. 

Sitting on the L, the late afternoon crowd buzzing around him, Ian tried to think back to the last time in his adult life he’d had to write a stranger something that wasn’t a hook up proposal on Grindr. Hell, even those were rarely initiated by him. 

Closing his eyes, right leg anxiously bouncing, Ian focused on clearing his mind. He was overthinking this, that's why it wasn’t not flowing. If he just let go, the words would naturally come to him. 

They didn’t.

Soon the overhead speaker was announcing his stop, putting an end to his failed attempt. 

As Ian made his way through the familiar station, he opened up Spotify and pressed play. There was no sense worrying about this now, he thought, before letting himself get lost in his music as he walked the streets he grew up on. 

**

When Ian stepped through the front door of his childhood home he was immediately hit with the smell of something burning. 

“Fiona? Liam?” he called, shrugging off his wet jacket and hanging it by the door. It had started raining when Ian was still overground, which meant he’d gotten soaked as he ran to the house.

“In the kitchen!” his sister yelled back. 

“Uncle Ian!! Uncle Ian!!” Franny exclaimed, running up to greet him as he made his way over. Ian kneeled so the fiery 3 year old was at eye level, the widest grin splayed on her freckled face. “Aunty Fi burnt the chocolate cake! There was so much smoke!” the little girl told him animitadley, little arms waving around. 

“Really? Was it aunt Fi or did you burn it?” Ian asked in a dramatically suspicious tone, poking his finger gently at her belly. 

“No! It was Aunty!” the tiny redhead laughed as her uncle heaved her up, walking them into the kitchen. 

“Hey sweetface! Everything go okay with the p.o?” 

Fiona was working on what seemed to be her famous 3 cheese lasagna, materials scattered on the counter when he walked in. Her brown curls framing her face as she placed the ingredients into the aluminum pan.

“Yep. I’m a free man.” 

Ian took a seat at their dining table, Franny on his lap. 

“You need me to do anything?” he asked his sister.

“No I’ve got it. Deb’s bringing a pie though, we tried baking you a cake but...”

“You didn’t have to, Fi.” 

“I know.” she answered with a smile. 

“Hey, you remember that friend of mine from school, Mandy Milkovich?”

“Yeah, you still talk to her?” 

“Nah, lost touch.” Ian didn’t really like talking about the past, especially not with Fiona, who loved nothing more than a reason to ask him how he was doing now. But if anyone knew about what happened to the Milkoviches, it was probably either her or her best friend Vee. “You remember her brothers though? One of them- uh, Mickey, is in jail..”

“They’re probably all in jail, honestly. But I think Mickey might have been the one who tried to kill their dad, if that’s the one that’s Lip age anyways,” FIona said, scrunching her face as if trying to conjure up memories.”I remember everyone over at the Alibi thought Terry was finally a goner..”

She looked over at him with a curious gaze. “Why you bringing him up?”

“Larry asked me to participate in this outreach program- prison pen pal, to show incoming parolees there’s a chance for them or whatever. I got Mickey.” he explained hesitantly. There wasn’t any real reason for Ian not to share this with his sister, but he felt like maybe Fiona wouldn't get it wasn’t a big deal, that it wasn’t something for her to worry about.

As if reading his mind, she cocked her head to the side, pursing her lips before saying “I’m sure you know what you’re doing Ian, but be careful. Terry Milkovich was well known for fag bashing and just because he did eventually die, doesn’t mean the family hasn’t been carrying out his legacy.”

“Got it, won’t invite him to the big gay orgy after he gets out,” Ian joked. 

He was proud of who he was, comfortable with his sexuality, but Ian had grown up gay on the South Side. He was well versed in basic survival skills- which in his case meant keeping a low profile. 

Shouldn’t be difficult, Ian thought, there was no reason for his future, most likely brief interactions with Mickey to get anywhere that personal. 

**  
Dinner was nice and loud, the usual chaos of the Gallagher household. 

During Ian’s first few months in prison he’d craved the disorder of home most of all; the moments when all his siblings were in the same space, screaming over each other. The sort of sensory overload that provided comfort. 

Though the Gallaghers had done as much as they could - visited, picked up when he called and put money in his commissary - Ian still couldn’t shake the feeling he was entirely alone. And when he’d gotten out, and the noise enveloped him like he knew it would, that bone deep sense of loneliness still lingered. 

Back in the apartment that night, Ian stepped into the shower and let his mind wander as the water hit his head. 

He tried to decide whether he was better off writing Mickey an email or a letter. 

While Ian had received neither during his time in, his cellmate for the first 8 months- a 57 year old bank teller who’d gotten arrested for multiple counts of fraud, got letters from his grandkids a couple times a month. He remembered Garrett would gush about them and would spend days writing up his own. 

“There’s nothing quite like the thrill of getting a handwritten letter, sport,” he’d tell Ian, wiping the tears from his eyes everytime a new one came in. “It shows the person that they’re worthy of your time, of your effort. You can feel a letter, see the emotions on the page. You’ll never get that with something that’s not handwritten.”

Ian never gave much thought to it, even if sometimes he couldn't help but feel a little pang of envy, a craving for the sense of intimacy. He also couldn't deny the fact it had always meant Garrett had something to do. The redhead knew he could always find the man with a notebook and pen in hand, ready to jump into his writing at any given point of the day. 

“It’s my way of escaping these bars,” Garrett would say. “It’s what’s gotten me through these three years.”

While rinsing the conditioner out of his hair, Ian decided he’d honor his old friend. Hopefully a letter, even a poorly written one, would provide some sort of distraction for Mickey, a way to cut through the monotony. Maybe he would like writing back, like the older man had. Or maybe he’d send a simple note back, telling Ian to fuck off. 

After drying up and throwing on some boxers and a gray tee, Ian rummaged around his room looking for a journal. He thought he probably still had one around from the time he’d manically write down his plans for the shelter, though he’d honestly rather never see those ramblings again. Luckily for him it turned out not to be an issue.

Figuring there’d be something in the living room, Ian walked over to the bookshelf Lip had bought them, and found a notebook that belonged to the other man but seemed barely used. 

“Yo, mind if I use this?” he asked Lip, who sat on their couch playing Call of Duty. 

“Go for it,” his brother replied, giving him only a mildly interested gaze. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Just somethin’ Larry asked me.” Ian answered noncommittally, walking back to his room and closing the door before Lip could think to hound him. 

Sitting on his bed, Ian decided he wouldn't stress over what to write, he’d just get down on paper whatever he thought up. Mickey was from the area, he probably wasn’t some sort of Shakespeare himself.

Plus, he probably wasn’t looking for some after school special bullshit. This was to appease the parole board. Ian got that. So he’d aim for honesty, he’d never gone wrong with that.

* * *

[Hi.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d915ec09f31585c9702f2ae22b04fdfc/de1067930844251a-fa/s540x810/dbed9e4b29ffa0540dd02d3d252b279d9d035cc2.jpg)

I’m Ian Gallagher, which you definitely already know, but I think this is how letters are supposed to start.

Anyways, hello. You probably know as much about me as I know about you, so here’s some things they haven’t told you:

\- I was in Marion Pen for 1 year. Arson. It was the hardest year of my life, which probably makes me sound like a pussy, I mean you’ve been in for 5. But it’s true and I think I should be honest.  
I’d say it’s all sunshine when you get out, but again, I’m trying to be honest. It’s not. Sometimes it’s almost as lonely as it is in there.  
But the food is way better and there’s no communal showers, so already infinitely an improvement. 

\- I grew up on the South Side, too. It doesn’t mean we’re the same or anything, that’d be a bullshit thing to say. But I thought maybe you’d want to know.

\- My favourite movie is Double Impact. You probably don't actually need to know that, but I’m running out of things to share about myself. Turns out I’m not that interesting, sorry. 

I hope you’re having a good week, as good as it can get in there I mean. And I hope the 10 months you have left go by quick. 

Talk to you later. Or maybe not.  
Guess we’ll see.

[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b5d88b8398571e25705396d02edc42c3/de1067930844251a-78/s540x810/656adff083851e6cc7bdcc4592f22cd54340025f.jpg)

* * *

Two weeks passed and Ian still hadn't heard back from Mickey.

He worried briefly that maybe he’d up fucked up the address. Ian paid bills through mail but those envelopes always came ready for him. Still, he’d followed the instructions on the volunteer packet, there was no way he could be that dense

So Ian figured the program probably went about it the same way that Miss. Cardoso had - one letter a month.  
It was definitely for the best. 

Mickey had 10 months left on his sentence so if this worked Ian would have to come up with 10 letters, which sounded challenging enough. If it had been a weekly thing Ian was pretty sure he’d have to start looking up how-to’s online. 

He did look up Mandy though and sent her a follow request on instagram. She’d accepted within minutes along with a DM chewing him out for having dropped her. 

By the end of the week they’d talked on the phone twice and exchanged hundreds of texts. He found out that she now lived in Los Angeles with two friends, that she’d been an escort for a few years and that she started baking to pass the time. Turns out she was pretty good, so she started taking some classes and scored a job at some hipster bakery, that she now ran and worked as the head pastry chef.

Ian loved how happy Mandy sounded, as bubbly and blunt as she’d ever been. He promised her he’d save up so he could visit, see the ocean for the first time, and she promised she’d think about going back to Chicago. 

He didn’t ask her about Mickey.

**  
It’d been 47 days since Ian’s last mandatory check in with Larry, since he’d sent the letter. So he figured the monthly drop off thing probably wasn’t the case either.

“Whatever, it was a shitty letter.” he muttered to himself as he folded the clean laundry.

He’d stopped by his mailbox on his way back from his run and found nothing. Just like the other days he’d checked. 

“Honestly, I probably wouldn't have written back either,” the redhead told himself while he scanned the cereal aisle for Lip’s favorite sugar filled brand.

It really didn’t matter. 

Though it probably meant he should get in contact with his old parole officer, see if he wanted Ian to pick a new inmate or something. 

As he walked into the lobby of his building Ian figured it wouldn’t hurt to check again. The usual piles of junk was there, but so was a singular white envelope addressed to him.

* * *

I don’t really know how this shit works either so.. 

1\. You are a pussy.  
But yeah, prison fucking sucks, even the federal ones probably. I guess that’s kinda the point. 

Glad to know it’s shitty out there too, really helps me not want to kill myself.  
But for an edible cheeseburger I guess I’ll hang on.

2\. Most of you guys are probably South Side, It’s just for ex cons, ain’t it?

~~Did we know each other??~~

3\. So you’re a pussy and you have bad taste in action movies. Ain’t arsonists supposed to be badass or some shit? Or are you just the weird psycho kind that gets off on fire?

Thanks.  
[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2b6a7321f44314a6fbc44419107b88d5/004aed1c83a2df7a-53/s1280x1920/d0ae0ef630cadd665b46b55df33f39424ac90c70.jpg)

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Leilah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/labelma/pseuds/labelma), you're a star!  
> Check out her work, y'all, you'll be thankful you did.
> 
> As always, your comments mean the world to me. Thank you so much for the kind words and please let me know what you think of this chapter!

A week had passed since Ian received Mickey’s letter and in those seven days he had read and reread the single page a dozen times. 

He wasn’t proud of it. 

He managed to hold off on writing back for as long as he could, convincing himself it was probably better not to bombard the man. He’d waited over a month to get back to Ian, so Ian would wait too. 

But every day, and at the most random times, he would think of what he should write back.

 _Should he tell Mickey more about his time in Marion?_ Ian wondered the morning after receiving the letter, while he made breakfast in his tiny kitchen. 

The problem was Ian couldn’t really think of what to share that wouldn’t sound like he was bitching or just looking to trade notes. _The last thing Mickey needed was another reason to discuss prison life,_ the redhead thought as he poured coffee in his mug, _this is supposed to be about what comes after._

Taking his first sip of the morning, Ian burnt his tongue on the hot liquid for the hundredth time that year, apparently still stuck on the lukewarm shit he’d been served inside. Ian had realized it was one of those things that you only learn about once you’ve actually lived it: how fast your body acclimates to the small changes, and how long it takes to deprogram once you’re out. 

Shit, that’s the type of knowledge he should be sharing. Mickey would probably want to know that it takes a while to get used to hot coffee and hot showers too, for that matter. Or that eating real cheese again will cause acid reflux almost instantly. 

_Maybe Mickey would want to know that being weary of people, the way you learn to be inside, seems to be an instinct that never goes away,_ Ian considered, on a Tuesday morning, as he boarded his morning commute to work. 

The L was always packed during the seven AM rush, so instead of fighting for a seat, Ian chose to stand in the same place every time - the closest he could to the back of the subway car, preferably leaning against the wall. From there he had a good view of the other passengers, could protect himself if something were to happen. 

Whenever Ian was in a crowd now, he was automatically on alert in a way he hadn’t ever been before. Which was saying something, because Ian had always been observant - the product of being a middle child in a house full of people, a drunk father and unstable mother. 

But having to watch his back in case a shiv came his way really taught the redhead how to hone that particular skill. And while he was positive that wasn’t a valid concern on the red line, his subconscious didn’t get the message.

While at the store on Thursday, officially two weeks after having received Mickey’s letter, Ian scanned the bread aisle for the whole wheat brand on his list and thought he _should tell Mickey to be prepared to drop a dime on groceries his first week out._

_Granted a dime, in this case, meant whatever money Mickey would be able to scourger up._

Going from almost no options to suddenly too many options will have a man ready to spend more than he should, eat more than he should, and then subsequently have to spend the rest of the night on the toilet.

 _Though that‘s probably more of a problem for those who take a cocktail of pills everyday,_ Ian figured, wincing at the memory of all the stomach aches he’d survived his first month home.

Yet even though Ian thought about all of this, thought about all the things that perhaps only someone like Mickey would care to hear about or understand, he hesitated when it came to writing it all down. 

_The guy has less than nine months left on his sentence, he should be focusing on only the good things about getting out._

Plus, Ian didn’t know him, not really, had no idea where his head was at, his mental health..

Mickey was just fucking with him when he’d alluded to suicide, Ian knew that. The letter might have been short but he could read the tone, it was a joke. But still, maybe telling the man to expect diarrhea wasn’t second letter worthy material.

So he’d keep it short and light, the redhead decided, as he walked through the doors of his apartment. He’d answer only what Mickey seemed interested in, build up a rapport. 

After putting the groceries away and taking the opportunity that Lip wasn’t home from the auto shop, Ian gave up on his plan to play it cool. He’d waited fourteen days, that was enough. 

He grabbed the notebook and pen from his room and sat on the comfortable suede couch, 

“Here goes nothing.”

* * *

[Hi Mickey!](https://64.media.tumblr.com/05203c91c948e623a5065a61ed88b0d4/ee5986e54fc7bf94-e5/s540x810/a136aab716e9131d87e5a9a47941f144f4a5c2b6.jpg)

I feel like I should start off by emphasizing I’m NOT a pyromaniac!!! 

I was just going through something and it got out of control and next thing I knew I was facing federal charges for blowing up a church van. 

But again NOT A PYROMANIAC!!!

Also, I now realize it was probably a mistake to say it’s not heaven out here, so let’s just pretend I didn’t? It’s great. It’s all the cheeseburgers you can eat, private bathrooms, no bunk checks. Magical. Wonderful, you’ll love all of it. 10/10 would recommend. 

But yeah prison does fucking suck, the jello cups aren’t bad though.  
Probably spiked with drugs or something because you can’t find anything like them out here. 

Shit, forget I said that too. Being positive isn’t my strong suit sometimes. 

As for all the ex cons, you’d be surprised. Saw a lot of Northsiders at my p.o’s office. You could’ve been stuck with a do-gooder yuppie.

I know you’ve been in for a while, so maybe you’ve forgotten what Double Impact actually is. Van Damme?? Biggest badass on film?? Ringing any bells? 

Talk to you later.  
[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9d66fd17b938fae4fd4b6032f92ee17f/ee5986e54fc7bf94-4c/s540x810/ae9365c85c95520d6bbbe6462d2c5d58d543672b.jpg)

P.s: NOT A PYROMANIAC.  
P.s.s: You were joking about being suicidal right???

* * *

Ian shipped the letter off on his way to work the next day, and life went on as usual, the rolling tides of his routine. 

It was easy enough. Ian liked his job, loved the fact it allowed him to help people again, gave him a sense of duty he hadn’t felt the last couple of years. 

During his time in lock up, Ian tried to come to terms with the fact he would likely never work as an EMT again. Just one more thing on his list of can’ts.

He understood why, took full responsibility for the outcome of his actions, and as Ian helped around the prison clinic - bandaged cuts and cleaned up stitches, day in and day out, he eventually came to peace with it. He knew there were other ways he could be helpful. 

Luckily, Larry Seaver had agreed.

On the day of his first check-in, Larry sat across from Ian and asked the man point blank “what do you see yourself doing with the rest of your life?” 

It was a loaded question, and one Ian certainly hadn’t been ready for.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, floundering, before finally answering with the first thing that came to mind. 

“I want to help people.” 

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat the longer Larry remained silent, only a quick nod to indicate he’d heard what the parolee had said in the first place, Ian took a breath and went on. “I mean, I want to work in healthcare again. As you probably know I was an EMT for a little while, before I got convinced.”

“Yes.” Larry agreed, his hands folded in front of him, the very picture of professionalism. “I also know you worked at the Health Centre at Marion.”

“Right. So I have some experience. And I took two of the nursing classes they had available for inmates - correctional and hospice care. I know my way around a clinic, I work well with others, I’m good with patients. I understand it can’t be easy to find a place who would give someone on parole a shot, but I promise you I’m qualified. ”

“I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Gallgher.” Larry had assured him, and that he did.

It took a couple months, but eventually Ian got an opportunity to work as a palliative aid at a fully functioning Hospice in the South SIde. They cared for 30 live-in patients, all with varying stages of care required, which meant Ian’s assistance would always be needed. It was as hands on as the parolee could have hoped for, given the fact he wasn’t a registered nurse.

Almost a year later and Ian was still at the Hospice, grateful the universe had given him another chance to work in the healthcare field. 

**

“Ah it’s Friday, my favorite day of the week. So go ahead, Red, tell me the tales of your day off and spare me no details.” 

“Good morning to you too, Lits.”

Lits, or rather, Thalita, was one of the Center’s younger patients, the youngest Ian had treated since he started working with palliative care. She was only 25 but had been fighting Leukemia for most of her life. The treatment she received wouldn’t change her diagnosis, but it hopefully meant she had better days as her fight came to an end. 

Ian spent as much time as he could with her, mostly telling her stories from his past. Thalita liked nothing more than to hear about people living - whether it was good or bad experiences, it didn’t matter. 

“The fact you have bad stories to tell just means you’ve lived, and the fact you’re standing here means you still have a chance to make good ones. So tell me all of it, past and present, okay?”

And for the last few months, Ian had.. 

“Well, I passed by that hot guy in the park again,” Ian told her as he checked her chart. The nurses administered all the patients’ medications, but Ian was the one who treated their wounds and tended to their personal care. “I was right when I told you I got zero gay vibes. Saw him holding hands with a blonde.” 

“Come on, Gay Jesus, you know that doesn’t mean anything. He could be bi or pan..”

“Or straight.” Ian cut in 

“There’s a bunch of possibilities, you shouldn’t jump to the worst conclusion.” Thalita countered as Ian sat by her, her right arm extended he could redress bandages from her IV site. 

“Being straight isn’t the worst thing, Lits.”

“It is if you’re a guy and you want to have sex with this man. I’m trying to get you a boo, Ian.”

“I can use Grindr for sex, thanks.”

“Yeah..” she started, pausing only to swallow down the pain she felt whenever Ian applied the antibiotic ointments. He murmured a soft sorry, like he always did, and she ignored him, like she also always did. “But this is a guy who jogs at your park, and who’s hot, and has a dog. He could be more than a hookup.”

“I don’t want more than a hookup, Lits. I’ve had boyfriends before and I’ve told you all about Caleb and Trevor.”

“But those were shitty boyfriends- you said so yourself.” she accused, acknowledging Ian’s glare, “I want to hear about you actually falling in love.”

“Sorry Lits,” Ian smiled as he got off the stool, pushing the supplies cart away. 

“Love doesn’t work like that, you can’t just decide it’s time. There’s whole songs about that. But when I do fall, you’ll be the first to know.” he offered with a smile. 

They never talked about how long Thalita had left here on earth when it was just the two of them. 

“Kate will be by with breakfast soon, so I’ll see you in a bit.” 

“You better.” He heard the woman call out, as he walked into the adjacent room. 

Two more Fridays passed, no different than the last. 

But on the third one, when Ian checked his mailbox before leaving for the day - a new habit of his - a letter awaited.

* * *

So you’re definitely a pyromaniac. Got it. Thanks for clearing that up. 

Is being into fire a ginger thing? 

You blew up a church van? You one of those crazy religious freaks? . 

Glad you talked me off the ledge, superman. If it hadn’t been for the speech, I would’ve jumped. 

Lucky for me I got a jello hook up on the outside. Gotta befriend the guys on kitchen duty, man. That’s Rule n.1.

I thought you were South Side? A real southsider would know this. 

Van Damme? Miss me with that shit. 

[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/67ccb7a3245e5a456e49b874ac0f6d9b/c9f181f258b57248-47/s500x750/506ca1f5fc1fd7acec7c0bcba5f8ba38ae0245f8.jpg)

* * *

Ian noted two things as he read the letter that morning, so completely absorbed by the paper in his hand that his mind seemed to forget all about the need to stand at attention for any potential threat: 

The first thing was that this letter felt even shorter than the first had, and the second was that Mickey was yet to say anything that wasn’t dripping in sarcasm. 

Both facts, however, did very little to ease the stupid grin Ian felt splayed on his face.

“You look upbeat. Did you get laid yesterday?” Thalita inquired the moment she saw him. Her tired expression perked up as he shook his head and made his way over to her bed.

“Take your mind out of the gutter, Lits, it’s barely 8 AM.” 

“Nope. you’re definitely brighter today. More yellow tones mixing in. Something cheered you up.”

The first day Ian met Thalita she told him all about his aura. According to her, it was deeply tinged with purple and pink hues, which she took to mean as a sign that he was naturally kind, and that his main focus was centered around helping and caring for others. 

“You would think all medical professionals had auras that presented like yours, Ian, but the tones are usually way darker.” 

And though they were perfect strangers, the captivating young lady looked into his eyes as she smiled honestly. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Ian and I’m very glad that I found you. You’ll do good and we’ll be great friends.”

Ever since then, whenever Ian was feeling low or even particuaarly high, Thalita always seemed to know. “I can read you well, Red.” she’d say.

“It’s really nothing like that, I tell you about all the sex I have - even though I absolutely **shouldn’t**.” he emphazied with a pointed look, to which Thalita replied with a self satisfied smirk.

“Remember the prison pen pal program I told you about?” Ian asked as he helped the woman sit up. “That my parole officer asked me to join?”

She nodded and gripped her left arm around his neck as he lifted her from the bed. 

“I just got another letter is all, so if I’m just happy to be helping. It’s really nothing exciting.” Ian downplayed, and hoped he sounded convincing, as Thalita adjusted herself on the wheelchair. 

“Okay... I guess.. But was it a dirty letter?” 

“Lits..” Ian warned, rolling them out towards the cafeteria.

“Fine. You’re no fun, but I need to gossip so guess what Mrs. Franklynn told me about her daughter..” 

**

When Ian got home from work that night, neck tense from the stress of his shift, he plopped down on the sofa and called out for Lip, face still buried in the cushion. 

“Hey, you want to order Chinese for dinner? I’m feeling like eating my weight in egg rolls.”

“Sure. Order me an extra-”

“Extra side of orange chicken, I know.” Ian yelled back as he pulled out his phone and opened the UberEats app.

“I’m going to take a shower before the food gets here, but I left my wallet on the table just in case. Don’t forget to tip!”

Once in the shower, Ian thought back to what Mickey had written. He’d made a ginger joke, which meant he’d taken the time to look at [Ian’s profile](https://64.media.tumblr.com/a66598fe8d3cae25ad9a52f07d20ad0a/b8a6044f923b4ad3-ec/s1280x1920/8c529639186a628e18cc712d45e021fa74ca79f2.jpg), just like Ian had done with his. 

_Did Mickey recognize him? Was that why he’d crossed out the ‘did we know each other’ from his first letter?_

At the time, Ian had ignored the unasked question, figuring that was the polite thing to do, but now he couldn’t stop wondering..

_Did he remember the frekly, gangly teen he’d been once he started hanging out with Mandy? Did he remember Ian’s ROTC phase, when he started obsessing over his body?_

Ian shook his head as if it could force the intrusive questions out of his mind, and decided it literally did not matter if they’d crossed paths before. 

Yeah, maybe knowing they were from the same neighborhood would help them connect in some way - get Mickey to think of Ian as an ally/friend on the outside or whatever bullshit Larry was hoping he could be - so he wouldn’t hide where he was from. But he also wouldn’t be one to bring up the past.

Ian heard the doorbell ring just as he’d gotten out the shower. 

Later, while he and his brother ate their dinner and watched the new episodes of Fear the Walking Dead, Ian got a text from Mandy. 

**Mandy (8:46):** Baked 🍃special 🍃 red velvet cupcakes today in your honor. 

**Ian (8:46):** You sell pot brownies at the bakery? Do your bosses know this? 

**Mandy (8:47):** It’s California, babe, pot is basically a food staple. 

**Ian (8:47):** Ah, no wonder a Milkovich fit right in.

 **Mandy (8:48):** Yep and so would your ghetto ass.  
**Mandy (8:48):** Though you always were a lightweight  
**Mandy (8:48):** Blitzed out of your mind even when all I could get from my brother was the cheap shit  
**Mandy (8:49):** Frank Gallagher would be so disappointed

 **Ian (8:50):** Good 

Before he went to bed that night, Ian got out his notebook and focused on the other brunette Milkovich in his life.

* * *

[Hi Mickey!](https://64.media.tumblr.com/95db09b152fdb88e827fcc6d2144bddc/1dee738add363b7f-81/s540x810/294b4c9738ee95cc9d926a388725b217ef3ea0c1.jpg)

Very funny, so many jokes. You get out and get yourself a job as a comedian, I think you have a real knack for it. 

Hell, might even make enough to pay for all those jello cups you know how to score. 

Guess whoever passes down the rules skipped the Back of the Yards.

But when you try your stand up bit, I’d retire the ginger jokes. They're outdated. Sorry to break it to you like this, but you’ve missed a lot during your time in the slammer. Gotta come up with some new material.

Crazy? Probably. Not religious though, anymore. Or ever really. It’s complicated.  
Let’s just say I got carried away, had a big hero complex when I was younger. 

Van Damme kicks ass. Do you even like action movies? I’m starting to think you’re into those silent French films with mimes.

Talk to you later.  
[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/44731fe04e38906346d857f40e49d472/1dee738add363b7f-7d/s540x810/6008685ea34c1198ccc88d1a91e5c1d757e62bcb.jpg)

* * *

When Ian dropped the envelope in the mailbox the next morning, it dawned on him just how fast time was passing. This was his third letter in the span of four months. Mickey only had 6 months left to go. 

He wondered what Mickey’s days were like, wondered if getting one of Ian’s letters worked as an unofficial calendar for him as well. 

_Did he take classes like Ian had? Did Cook County have movie nights like Marion? Did the brunette pass his time reading or working out?_

The weeks passed but Ian’s interest remained 

And near the end of the month, when he saw the white envelope addressed to him, Ian decided he’d try to move them past their easy banter.

He wanted to find out more about who Mickey Milkovich actually was.

* * *

Thanks. 

I usually save my best stuff for a select audience. 

Back of the Yards, huh? 

So you writing letters to “help” big bad inmates is a hero thing? Is it cause gingers ain’t got souls? You trying to get good with the big guy? 

“Slammer”, “yuppie”.. starting to think you’re a catfish, man. We get cable here, I’ve seen that shit. If you’re some 60 year old freak trying to talk to hot prisoners, just know I’ll break your fucking fingers.

Segal could kick Van Damme’s ass any day. You should use all that freedom you have to choose some movies that ain’t fucking shitty.

Who the fuck watches a French mime?  
[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/df816e4e6ce227eaa40b5061328c32bb/512a23c5132f341c-a2/s400x600/e5d1256052d9138bbe45346fd4921047e6a06717.jpg)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burns, gotta love 'em, right?  
> Let me know what y'all think in the comments. I need all the words, lol. 
> 
> Ps. Leilah, you're a peach.

Ian had no real idea what he could ask Mickey, what questions would give him a sense that he was actually learning about the man on the other side of his letters. 

He only knew what he wished he could ask - what he wanted to know. 

_Ian wanted to ask him if he’d been the kid that had taken a piss on first base._

Ian had promised his niece Franny he would get her a new soccer ball for them to play with - her new favorite pastime. She’d have him stand in front of the goalie post and fake block her shots, fake because the little redhead would get genuinely upset anytime her uncle would actually attempt to stop her goals. He’d gone into a sports store one Friday, on his way home from work, and found the baseball display first. 

Even though little league seemed like it belonged to a past life, Ian could still remember the commotion caused by a young Milkovich and his act of defiance, could remember how cool he’d thought the other boy was. 

Ian hadn’t been a geeky kid, and his last name prevented him from being treated with anything other than the typical pity and disdain adults awarded kids from broken households, but he had never been one to get himself into trouble either, certainly not like the Milkoviches and the other little of helions they ran with. 

And it wasn’t that Ian had ever looked up to the Milkoviches, but he did admire the way they seemed so sure of themselves, no matter what they were doing. Ian wondered if Mickey still held that bravado, if he still walked with the confident swagger that the young boy in Ian’s memory had, as he walked out the baseball field. 

_Ian wanted to ask Mickey if his nightmares were also about prison. Wanted to ask if he too woke up in cold sweat sometimes, thoughts plagued with the fear of being stuck inside those walls forever._

Ian still had nights like that. 

While he’d been inside, the redhead hoped sleep would engulf him whole, give him a welcome, dark reprieve.

He honestly didn’t know what was worse: the suffocating nightmares where he’d see the world moving on around him, as he stood stuck behind bars, voiceless and alone, or, when his subconscious would conjure up beautiful dreams that felt so impossibly real - where he could taste the fresh air, smell his sister’s perfume, could feel his little brother’s tight embrace - dreams that took him far away from his cell, only for reality to slam back in come morning. 

After having woken up at 4am from a particularly unwavering nightmare, Ian decided he’d look up questions he _should_ ask the other man, instead.

He worried he wasn’t any good at the whole pen pal thing, but he figured he it wasn’t the only one in this predicament. Plenty of people wrote to strangers online, which meant plenty of people had to figure out the right questions to ask if you wanted to connect with someone without being a creep. 

Scooting up in his bed, a mountain of pillows behind him, Ian made himself comfortable and started his search.

After looking up variations of ‘what to ask your pen pal’, Ian found a few websites he was sure could help - some with tips, others with lists. 

He scrolled through and made a mental note of everything he thought could apply to him and his letters to Mickey. 

But as it turned out, Ian soon realized most of these questions were not at all things he could ask someone who was currently in jail, and who had spent the last 5 years there.

“Mickey, what’s your favourite season?” Ian mockingly asked the darkness in his bedroom, “Mickey, which phone app could you not live without? How do you celebrate Christmas?” 

With a sigh, he opened up the notes app and pasted the few questions he thought maybe wouldn't make the other man want to stop writing to him altogether. 

Better than ‘do you have nightmares’, the redhead thought before turning off his phone and going back to sleep

**

“Hey Fi, what’s up?”

Ian and Lip had gotten so deeply immersed in their round of COD they’d both missed the first couple calls that’d come in, only having noticed the phone was still buzzing when Lip called for a bathroom break. 

“There’s a flood over at one of the laundromats, started small apparently, but if it gets worse there's a risk of losing the machines.” Fiona answered him, going a mile a minute. Ian could hear the distant noises of other cars, and could picture Fiona holding the cell phone with her shoulder as she drove. “So Deb and I are heading over there. I don’t know how long it’ll take, can you watch Liam and Fran?” 

“Yea, of course. I’ll go to the house now.” Ian assured her as he got up and headed to his room to change, still in the grey sweatpants and white tee he’d gone to bed in. 

“Thanks Ian.” his sister said distractedly before the call ended. 

He hoped whatever was happening would get resolved without much trouble, for his sister’s sake.

Fiona had taken a leap of faith when she’d bought out two more laundromats, and so far it’d been a success. She was excellent at managing a business, what with her experience of running an entire household, and she was savvy enough to anticipate trouble, spot improvements that would generate the most reward. 

But it was still a stressful endeavor, and one she’d taken on mostly on her own. Debbie was working as a handywoman, helping Fiona with the repairs she needed, but she was still a novice at best. Ian knew that if anything went wrong, it could mean a serious hit to Fiona’s business.

He hoped it would never get to that. His sister deserved for things to work out, as far as he was concerned, she deserved peace of mind more than any Gallagher. 

“Lip, go get dressed, Fi just called, we’re on babysitter duty.” Ian called out when he heard the bathroom door opening. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent at the park, chasing the kids as they kicked around the new soccer ball, and pushing Franny on the swings. The late April weather made it just pleasant enough for the kids to willingly want to put down their electronic devices for hours, without much complaint. 

By 6pm they were walking back to the house, all properly starving.

“I want pepperoni!” exclaimed Franny, looking up at Ian with an excited smile as he ushered her into the house. 

“Well I want Hawaiian.” countered Liam, voice bored as he kicked off his sneakers before slouching down into the sofa. The 8 year old was shaping up to the most patient of the Gallagher siblings, but he was still very much a kid. 

“Gross,” Franny shot back just as Fiona walked into the living room, a puzzled expression on her face as she settled into the armchair.

“Told them we could have pizza.” Ian said, his explanation for the ongoing bickering between the two children.

“You mean they conned you.” Debbie told her two brothers, matter of factly, as she came down the stairs.

Turning to face the two rugrats on the couch, the young mother asked “Pizza again, you guys?” causing a chorus of “pleaaaseeee”, “just today”, “uncles haven’t had any” to erupt from the pair now working on the same team again, prefered toppings forgotten.

“Fine. Go clean up before dinner, Fran.” 

“You too Liam.” directed Fiona, before turning her attention back to her other brothers, “thanks for taking the kids today. I'm sure that's not how either of you wanted to spend your Sunday off.”

“Nah, it was great. You know I love being with them.” Ian assured his sister as he and Lip took a seat on the couch. 

“Plumbing crisis averted?” Lip asked.

‘Yeah, for now at least.” sighed Fiona, a hand running down her tired face.

“It was more of a bandaid,” explained Debbie, “the actual repair is going to be a bigger job.”

“And I need to find someone who can do it without bankrupting me in the process.” Ian heard Fiona say while he looked up the contact for the family’s staple pizza place, Guissepe’s. 

“Anyone want to share a deep dish? Haven’t had one in months.” he asked the room as he brought the phone to his ear.

Ian had missed Guiseppe’s [deep dish](https://64.media.tumblr.com/12e7a4bf613ca35d2013966f72a5d3a2/0ae2c28ea264866f-bf/s640x960/2f1aacdd8211ce2d71bce495120ff26dabeb58df.jpg)  
the entire time he’d been locked up, probably just because he knew he couldn’t have any. He’d spend days planning out all the places he’d order food from once got out. It sounded like torture but had actulaly helped him pass the time, gave him a sense of control, and something to look forward to. He wondered if Mickey did that, too. 

While they ate their pizza that night, Zootopia playing in the background, Ian brought out his phone, clicked on the notes app and typed out ‘Guiseppe’s or Pinto’s?’

**

Heading to work that Tuesday, Ian noticed how bright the sky looked and figured it’d be a good day for his patients to get some fresh air. So he’d spent the vast majority of his day taking them out to the Center’s open courtyard, satisfied with the sight of them smiling, enjoying the sun kissing their skin.

“So I had a dream...” Thalita told him come afternoon, as they settled in under their favorite WIllow tree.

“Was it the Chris Pine x Chris Evans one again? Cause I’ve heard enough of that.” Ian joked, back resting against the trunk. 

“No, though now I wish it had been, that would have been so much better,” the young woman retorted with a cheeky smirk, “But alas, it was more a memory than a dream, actually.”

“Was it a good memory?”

“A great one, of the fourth of July party they’d have at the dock, you know the one?” 

He nodded. Thalita had grown up in the greater Chicago area as well, which meant they often knew which place the other was talking about when they’d swap stories. 

“I used to always go with gran and gramps. And I’d eat a bunch of hot dogs and cotton candy.”

“That sounds really nice, Lits.” Ian told her honestly. He loved when she’d tell him happy stories from her childhood, before the diagnosis colored everything in a new light.

“It was. I can’t remember exactly the last time we went, but in the dream I was eating hot dogs again, with ketchup and mustard on them like my gran likes. And it felt so real, I could taste it perfectly.” 

“Ketchup and mustard?” the redhead grimaced.

“I know, I know. Don’t get all Chicago proud, it’s delicious.” the young brunette affirmed, her short, raven colored hair blowing as the wind picked up.

“Uhum…” Ian appeased. He got up from where he was seated in order to retrieve the blanket they’d brought out, the bag hanging on the back of Thalita’s wheelchair. As he covered her, she went on with her story.

“So I was thinking, I had this dream for a reason, right?”

“Lits..” he warned. _Of course she’d had an ulterior motive_ , the man thought, rolling his eyes even though the corner of his lips turned up. 

“And I think the reason is that I need to eat another hotdog while I still can.”

“Thalita...” Ian scolded as he turned to face her. 

The young aid was always enthralled by his patients’ antics, the way they all tried to work him somehow. Spanning from getting them extra pillow, contraband chocolate bars, even conning him into being the one that helped give them a bath - he was popular with the elder patients.

to Ian, te whole thing was so positively human, and it created a connection him and his patients that Ian hadn’t been able to develop in his other healthcare jobs.

But it didn’t mean it wasn’t a pain in the ass sometimes, especially when it was them asking him to do something that could absolutely get him in trouble, if he were ever to get caught .

“Look before you say no, just think about it okay? It doesn’t it have to be a big one, shit I’ll settle for a bite as long as it has ketchup and mustard on it.” Thalita tried, reaching out to grab his arms, which he’d crossed in front of him. 

“No.” 

“Please Ian, come on. Just one bite.” she pleaded, giving the aid her best version of puppy dog eyes. 

So there stood Ian, in line for a hot dog on his late lunch break, two blocks away from the Center.

“Two dogs, one with [everything.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2e4e2055455655773a58731de336beab/e329d919ac899484-8c/s1280x1920/13d1ac082b76d32edc3ee9bf53dbfadcab533d82.jpg) and one simple. Oh and can you put mustard and ketchup on the simple one, please.” 

Ian was pretty sure he’d just been given the dirtiest look a street hot dog vendor can give his customer, and honestly, he couldn’t say he blamed the man...

“You’re a God. A Saint. A gem. I love you.” Thalita cried out, showering him with compliments when he inconspicuously handed her the [hotdog.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/745fbfd54ec150e79e553f138791a46f/e329d919ac899484-fb/s400x600/1c70a9edf1f53aff911008446faaa3fe49ab0424.jpg). 

The patients were usually on a pretty regulated diet, crafted by the in house nutritionist, but Ian knew one deviation wouldn’t cause Thalita any real harm. Still, as he watched her Smugly eat her treat, Ian decided this would be the last time he’d fall victim to her charm.

“Yeah yeah, hope it was worth it cause I’m not doing this with you again. I mean it this time.” 

“Yes,” the young woman assured him as she bit into her illicit lunch, “never again.”

**

“You really want to go to a **bar** every time there’s a game? That sounds like torture, man” Ian whined, trying to talk sense into his brother. 

Lip had been clean for over two years, having gone through the brunt of it while Ian was manic and then in prison. It’s something Ian still couldn’t fully forgive himself for - not being there when his brother needed him most - though he knew Lip wouldn’t ever think to resent him for it.

Regardless of how hard those first months were, and how hard he imagined it could still be at times, Lip never relapsed. He would go out for drinks with coworkers and stick to soda, would keep his cool at parties, even the ones held at bars.

Which was how he and Ian made the enormous mistake of watching the first Cubs’ game of the season at the Alibi one Wednesday night, at the invite of Kevin who insisted both men be present for his birthday celebration.

The _‘birthday celebration’_ turned out to be nothing but the usual crowd watching the game on the tv Kev had gotten up, as Lip drank coke and Ian nursed his one beer.

But the night ended with the Cubs’ absolutely crushing the Cardinals, which no one had expected, and suddenly a new tradition was born. 

“Well I don’t want to be the one responsible for fucking up their best season yet” Lip answered Ian from his place on the couch. 

“That’s ridiculous. It was one game, Lip” Ian called out to his brother from behind the kitchen island where he stood, eating a hot pocket. 

“Well I got money riding on this specific game at the shop, so I'm not taking any chances.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to be gambling.”

“Nag all you want but can we please get a move on?” the other man retorted, throwing Ian’s jacket on the counter as he made his way to the door. 

Once at the Alibi the men were greeted by an anxious looking Kevin. “Fucking finally, I was starting to think you two were going to be late. I got money on this game.”

“Christ, not you too?” Ian moaned as he took his seat on the usual stool. 

“We need the extra cash man,” the tall man behind the bar replied with a shrug, filling up a cup with the local tap, “here’s your beer.”

“You’re all ridiculous!” the redhead announced to the men around him, rolling his eyes before taking a sip of his drink.

Ian kept to one beer, Lip drank two cokes, Tommy polished his 5th cup of the night and the Cubs beat the Sox. 

As the men around celebrated the win like they themselves had been out on the field that night, Ian jotted down Sox or Cubs?

The next day, Ian reread his last letter from Mickey and finally got around to writing his own, asking Mickey all the dumb questions he’d selected. As soon as he dropped the envelope off, the man already couldn’t wait to hear back.

Unfortunately for him, he’d had to wait three whole weeks.

* * *

[Hi](https://64.media.tumblr.com/eb622dbafa8d60d59d035d7cc53fc987/de1e89c55586d021-10/s1280x1920/983cd69da77a58d0aaabe0678d51ee81c850943b.jpg) Mickey! 

“Big bad inmates” and “hot prisoners” ?? Gotta say I admire the confidence. 

I’m not a catfish, but I definitely think those would be the key descriptions they look for when choosing a target. So if that’s how you see yourself I understand the concern. 

Don’t worry though, you got lucky. 

In fact, I’m so kind I’ll choose to ignore the Segal comment. Though it does make me question your overall taste. 

So answer me this:

\- Favorite Christmas movie? (There’s only 1 right answer)  
\- Favorite song?  
\- If you had to pick 1 book for a deserted island what’s your choice?  
\- Red line or Blue line?  
\- Do you like ketchup on your dogs?  
\- Sox or Cubs?  
\- Guiseppe’s or Pinto’s?

Talk to you later  
Bye.

* * *

* * *

What the fuck? You writing a book about me or some shit? The fuck you need to know all that for?

But I’m bored as fuck so it’s your lucky day, nancy drew.

1\. Die Hard - that’s the only answer  
2\. It’s My Life  
3\. If I’m on a deserted island I ain’t taking a fucking book?? But I’ve read Jurassic Park a few times while I've been in here, and prison is definitely worse than any island, so I’d take that I guess.  
4\. Ketchup?? DO YOU??????  
5\. Cubs, man. Fuck that billy goat.  
6\. Orange line, you pussy. Have some respect.  
7\. Pinto’s, bar none. 

[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/617d1df3332d1b80d9ee62c19a878025/f8c9696405acd436-e1/s1280x1920/53c2abe2dba6dbfb08124aeaef8b37646f9ecd5f.jpg)

* * *

During those three weeks with no letter, Ian wondered if maybe he’d made a mistake asking Mickey random questions. 

He’d figured it was the best approach he could have taken, considering he wanted to get a better read on the other man, but from the few letters he had received he already could tell Mickey was a lot like he’d hoped he’d be, in other terms, a lot like Mandy. Brash, witty and thoroughly south side.

Ian wasn’t sure that Mickey would appreciate him trying to dig deeper, even if it had been a shallow attempt at best. He hadn’t actually asked anything truly personal, hadn’t asked him the invasive questions his own brain continued to think up, or even the ridiculous questions he’d come across in the websites he’d found, like “When was the last time you cried, and why?” 

But he’d still tried, and he was sure Mickey would see those questions for what they were.

When he’d gotten a letter back and he saw that, though begrudgingly, Mickey had truthfully answered him, Ian chose fo ignore the jolt that rippled through his body when he read other man’s words. 

Chose to ignore the fact he’d smile whenever he thought of Mickey.

Like when he thought about how Mickey knew to pick Die Hard as the best Christmas movie. 

_Had he just taken a lucky guess or had a younger Mickey watched the movie every december, just as Ian had?_

Or when he’d climbed aboard the orange line on his way to work, the subway noises deafening, smiling as he thought of Mickey defending it with such authority. 

When he passed the hot dog vendor, Ian couldn’t hold back his laugh, imagining the righteous indignation that probably took over Mickey’s face as he wrote down his dramatic “DO YOU???” in block letters, as if to further punctuate the gravity of the situation. 

**

As he watched the Cubs game that week, Ian wondered if Mickey was watching it too, somehow. At Marion, they got to watch sports sometimes, depending on which correctional officer was stationed in the rec room. 

_Next season, a year from then, would Mickey watch games at the alibi, too?_

“Hey Kev, you remember Mickey Milkovich?” Ian asked the bartender during the seventh-inning stretch, taking the opportunity that Lip was outside smoking.

He still hadn’t told his brother about his letters to Mickey, the thought made him uneasy for some reason.

“Of course, bravest motherfucker on the south side, taking on Terry like that,” Kev answered while wiping down the counter. 

“You know why he did it?” he further prodded, a question that had been on his mind since the conversation he’d had with Fiona. 

“Nah, but it’s Terry we’re talking about. Who here didn’t have a reason for wanting him dead? Especially his kids.” 

Ian hadn’t really known Terry, had only seen the man around the neighborhood. For most of Ian’s life, the man was more of a boogeyman than someone real. He really only knew what people said about him, but even then it wasn’t from anyone close to the man. 

Mandy never talked about her dad, but oftentimes she’d ask to sleep over and it usually coincided with the times she’d ask Ian to pick her up. Times he’d noticed Terry was home. Ian was young at the time, but he knew better than to think it was a mere coincidence

Still, she’d never brought it up and he’d never asked.

“He’s getting out soon.” Ian told the bartender, unsure of why he’d felt the need to share that.

“Yeah? Good for him,” Kevin said, finally stopping to look at Ian. “You two friends? Tell him drinks are on the house when he’s out.”

“Oh, uh, I’m mostly friends with his sister.” Ian explained, unsure of whether he’d just lied or not.

 _He and Mickey were friends, weren’t they?_ He knew it was a complicated situation, but if he was being honest, yeah, Ian was starting to consider Mickey a friend. He sorta hoped the other man thought the same. 

“Right, Mandy. Tell her she can have a free drink too.”

“I will.”

* * *

[Hi](https://64.media.tumblr.com/26444024a5c2d60f1db30223410a8b3a/9f2e25549c7ad0e7-3d/s540x810/4eae054c1dd47acc4f771fcc4623400f7a913d32.jpg) Mickey!

You caught me, I’m writing a tell all. I think it’ll be a bestseller, nothing more interesting than the inner mind of “big bad inmate/hot prisoner.” I’ll cut you in on the profits. 

Only got 5 months left now, what are you doing to pass the time? Other than watching catfish, that is. I worked at the clinic when I was in, like right to the last day, so my days were usually boring and eventful at the same time. Prison logic. 

Congrats on getting the right answers, mostly.

\- Die Hard is absolutely the best Christmas movie. I used to watch it every year with my siblings, when everyone was younger.  
\- Bon Jovi is king. But if we’re talking classics I’m gonna go with Don’t Stop Believing.  
\- Jurrasic park? Solid choice. I’ve only watched the movies, though.  
I went through 3 Stephen King’s when I was inside, have you read any?  
\- Relax, I was just testing you. I’m a criminal but ketchup on a hot dog is a crime I won’t commit. I ordered one for a patient of mine the other day and the vendor looked at me like I had just spit on him.  
\- Do you get to watch the games there? This is the Cub’s year, man. I can feel it.  
\- Come on, Mick, it’s just us, and we’re being honest, remember? The orange line fucking blows. Slow and noisy as fuck, not to mention every cart smells like piss.  
\- Pinto’s? I’m disappointed. Don’t tell me you get your Italian beef from Bonnie’s? 

Talk to you later.  
[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2f3a469d84e1d40b06ea09eddbe78124/9f2e25549c7ad0e7-71/s540x810/8b74b09ef97d45e8c24f6291d5c46032ba615ddd.jpg)

* * *

May arrives and with it the comfortable warmth Ian craved all year. Making the most of it and his renowned energy, the redhead decided to walk home from work, a luxury reserved for late spring afternoons. 

It’s a pretty long walk, since the Center is on the opposite side of his apartment, but as Ian strolled along, listening to music, he was grateful for the distance.

When ‘It’s My Life’ started playing, Ian smiled and started singing to himself, not minding the fact that others would surely be able to hear him if they paid him any mind. 

He wondered if Mickey hummed the song when he was in a good mood, like Ian now found himself doing.

As he waited for the cars to pass so he could cross one of the side streets, a small bookshop on the other side of the road caught his attention. On a whim, Ian went inside, greeting the store clerk behind the counter. 

“Can I help you look for anything?” the young man politely asked Ian, his faded pink hair catching the other man’s attention. 

“Do you guys sell used books, by any chance?” 

“Yep, all those stands over by the back.” he indicated towards the rear of the store.

“Thanks.” Ian said with a curt nod. 

He wasn’t sure what the chances were that they would have the Jurassic Park novel in their used selection, and it wasn’t that Ian couldn’t afford to buy it new, but if they did have the book then it would be like a sign, he thought. 

And as he looked through the all shelves, he sincerely hoped he would find the book. 

“Just the [one](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9f47e7a112af44db5ad6025e462ce524/77942a500aadfe13-13/s500x750/43b1cddbc3a58bd85edc7bae05b6e8a173925e33.jpg)  
?” the clerk asked as he rang Ian up. 

“Just the one...” 

**

 **[Lip](https://64.media.tumblr.com/404f223f8be03d317f19eaecdf20a177/715c166cd5f9bab0-66/s500x750/0f77b342751b725b2305fe86817012c9368ee982.jpg)** (8:38): Dude, I’m fucking starving.  
**Lip (8:38):** Leaving the shop soon. Asshole customer had me wondering if I’d have to lock up the place with him inside.  
**Lip (8:39):** Can you order us a pie?  
**Lip (8:39):** 2 actually, I want to eat my weight in pepperoni as soon I get home.  
**Ian (8:40):** Sure.

Ian started looking through his phone for Guiseppe’s when he thought back to Mickey picking Pinto’s. He’d of course told the man he’d been way off with his choice, but.. 

_Ah, what the hell._

One google search later and he was ordering two large pizzas. 

“Pinto’s???? Really Ian?” Lip groaned when he saw the boxes, the food having arrived just minutes before him. 

“Shut up and eat, I thought you were starving.” Ian told his brother as he got them both two cans of cokes from the fridge.

“I’m starving but I still got taste buds, man.” Lip bitched around a bite. 

“Wanted to try something different.” 

The pizza wasn’t horrible, definitely wasn’t comparable to the Bonnie’s dig he’d made. Anyone from South Side knew better than to order the Italian beef subs from there. The place was definitely just a money laundering front, the staff couldn’t cook for shit. 

While Ian ate, he found himself thinking about one day sharing a pizza with Mickey, maybe they could order a pie from each place, taste test in real time. He could see it, thought maybe he wanted it. 

It scared the hell out of him 

* * *

[You](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6e7b589af5c4179b2bc384f798da027c/c842d9fc525cb98d-a3/s500x750/3c0f96fca55f40c5f5b0152df426b5dab6b4a5c2.jpg) think wack ass Guiseppe’s is better?? Are you fucking serious?? 

I don’t want you writing my book, nurse Jackie, you’ll fuck it up. I’ve been sticking to laundry this year, so I got plenty of time to do it myself. 

Fuck you for that Bonnie’s comment, their shit is dry as fuck. I went to the Deli on 8th, like any self respecting Southsider. Which is why I know the orange line was the easiest to sneak into aka the best. Doesn't matter if it smells like piss. So does every other street in that dump.

Bet you it’s better than the smell of bleach, which is what everything smells like if you’ve been on laundry for long enough. 

We don’t really get to watch sports here. Assholes get riled up, ruin it for everybody. It’s usually just old people shit like jeopardy and wheel of fortune. Catfish was only a thing cause one of the guards was into it. 

Pretty sure he had a catfish situation going on himself, he’d get all fucking excited when the person turned out not to be fake. Fucking clown.

Speaking of clowns, let me get this right, you don’t want me making ginger jokes but you tell me you like reading It? Okay, Pennywise. 

[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/312abd50d46a6b010a2fd8a71198a638/c842d9fc525cb98d-e7/s500x750/3eb5035907210e3b909f2afb80f47a2798c25769.jpg)

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm back again! 
> 
> Spoiler: this chapter is going to be a little different.  
> We're getting only the letters being sent back and forth, in the spam of about 2 months.  
> Chapter 5 will pick up with Ian getting Mickey's last letter - the last letter on here.
> 
> I didn't want the rhythm of fic to get super repetitive, and I didn’t want to add these letters to chapter 3 or it’d been way too much, but I wanted to move us along the passage of time and get to a spot where we can really sse the boys getting closer.  
> Please let me know what you think, there probably won't be a need for another of these experimental chapters but I definitely want to know how it was received. 
> 
> Sending SO MUCH LOVE to everyone that’s been following this fic. I read y’all’s comments just like Ian reads a letter from Mick: with a huge smile! 
> 
> Xx

* * *

**SENT BY IAN: May 9th, 2020 - ARRIVED: May 14th, 2020**

* * *

[Hi](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6558dfe8374952e94012af645188ba47/23cac8f2119d9793-48/s540x810/55359fdca4a8632ace40ee35b2f55ed17a191299.jpg) Mickey!

Exactly how many nicknames are you gonna come up with? I’m almost impressed.

Guiseppe’s is 100 times better! I’ll send you a pie from them once you’re out, you’ll see how wrong you’ve been.

They would have jeopardy on all the time at Marion! I remember this asshole guard who loved to guess the answers, like we didn’t know they were reruns. Real fucking Einstein.  
That’s another thing you get to look forward to: no more game shows! 

My old cellmate worked laundry so he’d always steal us the best, clean sheets. Glad you have all that extra time, and since you’re going to write your own book, I’ll help you come up with the material. You’re welcome: 

\- If you could read one person’s mind, who would it be?  
\- What’s your life story in six words?  
\- What are your biggest pet peeves?  
\- What was your favorite birthday?

Talk to you later.  
[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/462389642078a85a61b3a52244e7e1e6/23cac8f2119d9793-ff/s500x750/022670f6c30938ac64bd76e6d925fead4897436b.jpg)

Ps. Since you won’t ask, here are my answers anyways: 

\- I’d want to read the mind of Robert Kirkman. He’s the man behind some of the best comics and the one responsible for two of my favorite tv shows. I think it’d be cool as hell to pick the brain of someone who’s really creative.

\- You can miss what never was

\- I hate it when people chew loudly, or when they make clicking noises for no reason, like with pens or some shit, you know?

\- I’d say mine was the one after I got out. But today was really nice too, my brother’s not in juvie this time so I actually got to spend the day with the whole clan..

**SENT BY MICKEY: May 22th, 2020 - ARRIVED: May 28th, 2020**

* * *

Don’t worry about it, ginger snap. 

You can buy it, but I won’t eat it. I’ve had enough shitty “pizza” in here to last a lifetime.

We have a guard here who rated all the deal or no deal girls as if he isn’t the ugliest motherfucker in the state. Got his nose broken once by a loon who was convinced he was married to one of them. Hi-fucking-larious. Rec got banned for a while but it was worth it. 

You’re goddamn right, I’m never watching senior citizen tv ever again. 

I‘ll strangle you with these sheets if you keep sending me stupid fucking questions. 

[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/8825fc893205cf896087b822b7f22591/0c89f06197ae506d-11/s540x810/10722954f2b0b6727f965bbe3da11b6e2353e8d0.jpg)

—----------- **(on the back of the letter)** \-------------- 

1\. You’re such a fucking nerd. I’d read Capone’s mind. Find out where he stashed all the money he absolutely hid. Live like a king in some villa somewhere. 

2\. I don’t need 6 words - fucked for life. 

Did you really come up with that shit, Shakespeare? Just cause I don’t got access to google don’t you think I won’t call your ass out. 

3\. I hate when people ask me stupid questions. I hate when people got shit taste. I hate when people suck on their teeth, my fuckwad cellmate does it all the fucking time and I’m seriously considering adding another charge to my file.

4\. I don’t got a favorite birthday, but the one after I get out will probably be it. Was that your way of telling me it’s your birthday? 

[Happy birthday, orphan Anniei](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2fc337e80c9abdd1cb4a987fb81c1199/0c89f06197ae506d-75/s540x810/b17e995e3bb26bc6e8c43fe8a31443cf46072b45.jpg)

* * *

**SENT BY IAN: May 29th, 2020 - ARRIVED: June 4th, 2020**

* * *

[Hi](https://64.media.tumblr.com/bf8b0b59600a7c1f6543c696117c5d25/5e1d0824119a4aa3-f3/s540x810/a24d9bd024c7eee7eab927d5dbc2bb653beded34.jpg) Mickey!

Say what you want now but when that slice hits your mouth you’ll be reconsidering everything. And thank you. When’s your birthday? Will you be out by then?

Punching a guard sounds satisfying as hell. I can’t tell you how many times I dreamt about jumping one of those bastards. But I didn’t want anything that fucked up me getting the hell out of there as quick as possible, so I never did.  
Still fantasize about it though, every time I see a cop. Shit, the military ones were even worse.

You can’t pick someone who’s dead and don’t knock on Robert Kirkman till you’ve watched his shit. I know you suck with action movies but there’s no going wrong with the walking dead.

Thanks for the compliment, I did come up with it.  
But maybe someone has said it before, I don’t actually know. All words have probably already been strung together in the same way. We’re not as original as we think. 

You’re not fucked for life.

Don’t kill anyone, focus on the cheeseburgers.

Talk to you later,  
[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1a17e6360bf1ee9fafa1fb82d2b44e76/5e1d0824119a4aa3-28/s540x810/ce5755b482d7266018f2e663f50124fc6ae85801.jpg)

P.s.  
\- If you could choose one super power, what would it be, and why?  
\- Sneak into Wrigley Field or the Lincoln Park Zoo?  
\- Mario or Sonic?

* * *

**SENT BY MICKEY: June 12th, 2020 - ARRIVED: June 18th, 2020**

* * *

[You](https://64.media.tumblr.com/177514882b9f413669e15cc922973858/529ca33c14882422-03/s540x810/74fdfbfc98032653294a9b865bc326bc604b995f.jpg) telling me you’re from the Back of the Yards and you’ve never punched a cop? I’m really hoping I beat your ass when we were kids. 

Why the fuck was your pussy ass around military police? Do they get called when pyros blow shit up? 

Jesus, I’m never calling you Shakespeare again, what the fuck are you talking about? Who the hell cares about being original? 

I’m sitting in a fucking cell right how, where I’ve been for the last 5 goddamn years. I’d say I’m pretty fucked. Fuck off with the positive shit, aren’t you all about being honest?  
And no, I’m celebrating another year in this hellhole.

The zoo or a baseball game???? Seriously??

[You](https://64.media.tumblr.com/a060cca0d2709183916b7d80ae4f6fb9/529ca33c14882422-a2/s540x810/b2cc8537762ae5e48d49f2d5520ea72960bc2002.jpg) know what, I got some questions for you: 

1\. Broken rib or broken leg?  
2\. Would you rather go without heat in winter or electricity in the summer?  
3\. Lick the floor of the bathroom at the Alibi or eat the “meat” patty they serve at the High School?  
4\. Take shit from the Kash&Grab or the DayMarket on 3rd?

* * *

**SENT BY IAN: June 19th, 2020 - ARRIVED: June 25th, 2020**

* * *

[Hi](https://64.media.tumblr.com/666fbaecaccfac26abd22fea8375fe48/8414ab4b94241631-1f/s540x810/63c5ef7b0b6685eda04a1da8d469b2039b43b71f.jpg) Mickey! 

First of all, assaulting a police officer is not as common here as you apparently think it is. Not everyone wants to go juvie, you know? We had enough problems to deal with without me getting myself in trouble like that. Plus I started working at like 11 to help with the bills around the house, that’d be one less person chipping in if I wasn’t there. 

And I mean I’ve sort of told you this before but I was big into the hero thing - or so I’m told - when I was younger. Used to think the military would be my way out of the South Side, so that’s all I wanted for my future. Thought I’d go all out, become an officer, go to West Point. But yeah.. life doesn’t always turn out like we hope, which I’m sure you understand.

As for kicking my ass. No. You never kicked my ass. Maybe my brother’s, but not mine. Lucky you, I guess, because I could always hold my own.

Don’t shit on my questions, coming up with this shit isn’t as easy as I’ve made it look. And I was trying to keep it light, asshole. But I’m serious when I say you’re not fucked for life.

I know I’ve probably given you the impression I’m a gold star role model, but everyone has demons, man. We just can’t let them win all the time. No matter how many punches they get in. I told you, I can hold my own. If I remember correctly, so could you. So when life is kicking your ass, fight back.  
When you get out, Mickey, fight back.  
My money’s on you, man.

\- [Never](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c67be770b69ac7e3cec5ec771fbc5021/8414ab4b94241631-42/s540x810/7763c9a1146fd01fd9e7b5678086aeb6d0046dca.jpg) broke a rib, just bruised a couple and that was hell. Never broke an arm either, but I broke my leg and that was fucking awful. So i’ll go the “pussy” way out and say bruised ribs.

\- Fuck. I think I’d go without electricity in the summer, but I guess it’s different now that I’m grown and living without kids in the house. Whenever Frank would let us go weeks without heat, the little ones were who I most worried about.

My big sister always tried to make a game out of it, you know? Pretend we were in a log cabin in the mountains, that we were explorers on a new planet. But it meant we’d have to go to school the next day still bone cold. In the summer at least there was no school, we could spend the day at the mall, riding the blue line (bless their a.c). We’d sleep outside, in tents, pretend we were camping. It was less miserable than going without heat.  


\- I’m gonna take the mystery meat, for a hundred. You’re risking a serious stomach infection but at least you won’t get an STD or risk your tongue falling out.

\- Considering I worked at the Kash&Grab for like 3 years, I’m gonna opt out of this one. Show some civic pride. But now I’m convinced you’re the Milkovich “thug” Kash would always bitch about.

Talk to you later,  
[Bye](https://64.media.tumblr.com/a233cb1da7eaefeb101496488fc5842a/8414ab4b94241631-48/s500x750/2eaa29cd7f28a7d40ffde8f3c757faef75ccec1a.jpg)

* * *

**SENT BY MICKEY: July 3rd, 2020 - ARRIVED: July 9th, 2020**

* * *

[Shit](https://64.media.tumblr.com/dcce40d1bec9ae9bceaa706aff474f14/8aa5313223023831-89/s540x810/6769f2fccc157dcc909e0520556d635006b98c1b.jpg) you are that ginger. I fucking knew it. 

First of all, firecrotch, “assaulting a police officer” is a right of passage where we’re from. So is juvie. That’s one less person in the house, man, one less mouth to feed. If I didn’t remember your ginger ass I’d be convinced you were a Northsider. 

Those ROTC kids were fucking weirdos, who the fuck wants to serve this piece of shit country. I ain’t dying for Uncle Sam, ain’t killing for him either, bitch can kiss my ass.  
Is that how you got mixed up with the military cops? You set anything of theirs on fire?. 

Yeah, never laid a hand on you ‘cause I was so scared of getting my ass beat. That sounds right. Pretty sure you got Mandy to thank for that, Redhead Balboa. ~~You still talk to her? That why you writing me?~~

[Whatever](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b1bf163c4c8f23a6e32a3879a2aa3b1b/8aa5313223023831-2a/s500x750/fe576ad785fa5d84f793c79ef6f28d2ee1b835dc.jpg), man. Things don’t work out so great when you have my last name. But I ain’t getting myself thrown back in here, that’s for fucking sure. 

Wise choice. You can sleep off a bruised rib and there's no annoying cast that makes you want to scratch your fucking skin off. Broke my right arm a couple months after I got here, couldn’t even jerk off for like a month, which was worse than any punishment they gave me. Can’t even believe I’m almost out of here 

Your sister sounds real fucking smart. When my mom was around she’d try shit like that sometimes, when she was sober, at least. Terry couldn’t give a shit. 

You’re probably right about the Alibi. I’ve caught your dad passed out in the bathroom before, so who knows what the fuck kind disease is on that floor. Place still a dump or are you too good to drink there now?

Also gotta thank Mandy for us not stealing from there while you were working. Bitch would nag the shit out of us to not get her little boyfriend in trouble. Should have fucked you up on principle, man.  
[Lucky you.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9346e3be13d8540aa814c83af510322c/8aa5313223023831-28/s1280x1920/aa21108fef7f0d505514e89a9c2a892ce3254200.jpg)

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> Hope you all had a great week. Mine was crazy busy, so this updste is a tad shorter than I'd like, but things are definitely moving along and I’m super excited for next week. 
> 
> Can’t wait to hear your thoughts. Your comments give me life!❤️  
> 

Last month, when Mickey had asked him about the Kash&Grab in his letter, Ian couldn’t stop himself from wondering if that was Mickey’s way of acknowledging their shared past. 

_Maybe he’d finally connected the dots._

It’s not like Ian ever directly lied to the other man about who he was, and he wasn’t trying to hide anything. Maybe this was Mickey giving him an opening, a chance to break down that 4th wall between them. If so, Ian was going to take it. 

But before he did, he owed Mandy a conversation.

**** June 18th, 2020 ****

**[Ian (4:38):](https://64.media.tumblr.com/beab537a8b7231b7142312dd548da726/f89581cb9fe4733b-77/s500x750/34445d723eb97a9921e7b5c7de18bb9d2ef11619.jpg)** Hey  
**Ian (4:38):** Want to talk to you about something  
**Ian (4:38):** Call me when you’re free, ok?  
**Ian (4:40):** No rush 

**[Incoming call: Mandy](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e62eb78338279ab24f5df35d264e78a7/9b666d3dfcbe3c2d-34/s1280x1920/69fc90b0d9dbec66dac4ee33310d40325af884a7.jpg) **

“Hi, what’s up, you okay?” was the first thing Ian heard when he picked up the call. 

“Yeah, just wanted to talk. Aren’t you at work right now?” he asked, getting off the couch instinctively. He had the habit of pacing around when he was nervous, and fuck was he nervous then.

“I am, but I run this place, remember?” Mandy responded easily, teasing glint to her voice. 

“No it’s fine, just call me when your shift ends.” Ian tried. He knew he was stalling, that it wouldn't actually be any easier if she were 100% free, but still.. 

Unfortunately for him, Mandy could always see through his bullshit. 

“Ian, stop. I don’t work for the fbi, it’s a bakery. I can talk on the phone. You’re acting weird, what the hell’s up?” she asked, now anxious. 

Ian inhaled, trying to summon the courage he needed, exhaled, and got to it. 

“So remember I told you about my old parole officer and how he really helped me out?”

“Yep, your court mandated father figure.” 

“Ha.” 

_Okay, she remembers, get on with it_ Ian thought, running a hand through his hair as he made his way over to the windows.

“Wait, this isn't you telling me you’re sleeping with him are you? Cause I thought you stopped fucking old-”

“No. God, no. It’s not that at all.” Ian grimaced. He hated thinking about that specific part of his past, when he’d felt so low about himself that he’d searched for affection and validation from disgusting, sick men. 

“Okay so..” Mandy urged.

“I just feel like I owe him a lot, you know?” he continued, “So when he asked me to join his outreach program, I said yes. It’s this prison pen pal thing, connecting old paroles with inmates about to be released.”

“So like criminal tinder?” Mandy asked with an amused scoff. “Isn’t that like the worst idea ever?” 

“It's like a role model thing, not a hookup thing.” Ian said through a nervous laugh. 

“Just parolees who dug themselves out of the hole or whatever.” he explained, twisting the strings of the window blinds with his free hand. “To show the future paroles they can break the cycle too.”

“Uhum and this is interesting to me because..”

“Because I got assigned Mickey..” Ian blurted out, “your brother…”

“Yes I know who my brother is, thanks.” Mandy quipped, still sounding somewhat amused. “So what? You’re gonna be writing Mickey letters?”

“I..uh.. '' Ian took a breath. _Fuck_. “ I already have been, actually. Since January.” 

Mandy was quiet for a second, most likely doing the math before adding, voice hard. “Which was when you remembered I existed. Got it.”

 _Fuck._ “Mands, no.” 

This was what he’d been afraid of. Of course, logically, it would be the conclusion Mandy would come to. She was right, it was around the same time he’d looked for her, gotten his head out of his ass. But that had nothing to do with Mickey and their letters, even if it did, indirectly. He needed her to get that. 

“I know I already told you why I went mia and how much I missed you,” Ian told her honestly. Turning back to the couch, he took a seat on the armrest, though his body was still buzzing. “But you need to understand that when I looked back, to before my diagnosis..” he sighed, digging his nails into the palm of his hand, another nervous tick he’d picked up though time. ”It felt like remembering the life of someone who died.”

“Ian..” he registered that Mandy sounded less angry, but he couldn't stop now. 

“So I buried it. Everything. It was what I thought I needed to do, so that I could try and move on.” he pushed through, unclenching his fist before he broke skin. ”But when I reached out to you, when we reconnected, it helped me realize that I shouldn't have left everything from my past, in the past.”

Ian hoped Mandy would understand, as best she could. They had talked about some of this before; about how she’d looked for him and about how she’d ultimately given up. Mandy too had buried the past, for her own reasons. 

He let the silence between them linger, anxiously listening to Mandy breathe until he couldn’t take it any longer.

“Say something, please..” Ian pleaded, getting back a clipped, “I believe you, jackass.” 

He let out a relieved breath, letting himself slip down onto the cushion. So incredibly glad he hadn’t fucked up beyond repair. 

“So what? You’re friends with Mick now? Why didn't you just tell me that?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know how to bring it up. The letters, they didn’t start out personal, for either of us. Just basically two strangers writing to each other.”

“So he doesn’t know who you are?” 

“He does. He knows my name, a little bit about me. There's a pretty good chance he didn’t actually know my name when we were kids, so he probably didn’t recognize me.” Ian explained truthfully. “But yea, I’m trying not to keep shit from him.”

“So are you like asking my permission to be friends or some shit?” Mandy spured.

“Fuck off” he said with no real heat in his tone, running a hand down his face as he dropped his head back, sinking further into the couch. “Just wanted to talk to you about all of this. Come clean, I guess.”

“Before you reveal yourself to Mick?” she laughed. “God, you gays are so dramatic.”

Ian laughed along with her, “ if I'm dramatic I learned it from you.” 

“Yeah, well..”

As their laughs died off into comfortable silence, Ian closed his eyes and sent a quick _thanks_ to the universe. It felt so good for things to be going his way. 

“So… what do you guys talk about?” Mandy asked, sounding genuinely curious. 

“Mostly shit talk prison, or the south side, shoot the shit about the neighborhood,” he told her. “We only talk like once a month.”

Ian was downplaying their interactions, and he wasn’t even sure why, considering Mandy would probably be the best person for him to talk to about Mickey.

“I can see why a parole officer would want this exchange.” she teased. 

_She’s not wrong,_ Ian thought. Larry would probably hate his letters. But hopefully Mickey didn’t, so fuck Larry.

“Ha ha.” 

“So you’re friends..” 

He noted Mandy worded it as a statement, not a question. 

“Yeah..’

“You should tell him who you are.” Mandy said then. “Be real friends. Mickey could use one of those.”

“Okay.” 

“So crisis averted? Can I get back to work now? You know I run this very popular bakery, right? I can't just spend my days on the-”

“Bye Mandy” he sang and hung up, a wide grin on his face as he looked up at the ceiling. When he felt a buzz on his lap, he picked up the phone and found two texts from the youngest Milkovich. 

**[Mandy (5:34):](https://64.media.tumblr.com/df476662b43b208503eaaa6b0f24a2df/f89581cb9fe4733b-c4/s540x810/c70d0cc5fc7b94f3cc4ec9e89d2a50ab3a3884f7.jpg)** No more secrets or I’ll fuck you up  
**Mandy (5:34):** Won’t even spare your pretty face  
**Ian (5:35):** ❤️ (heart emoji)

With Mandy’s “blessing” out of the way, Ian focused on his letter. 

He answered Mickey’s questions honestly, with just enough details about how they’d been in each other's radar, all those years ago. If Mickey remembered, if he wanted to go there, the ball was in his court. 

Much to Ian’s delight, Mickey played ball.

**

As Ian addressed the envelope containing his latest letter, he realized it was something he could do by heart now, no longer having to check the volunteer packet Lary had once given him. It got him thinking about how much had changed since he’d signed on for Next Chapters.

What started as one tentative letter every 40 days had turned to almost three every month. Impersonal back and forth grew into friendly banter. He looked forward to their exchanges, to Mickey’s snark. 

With time and without him even taking notice, Ian wasn't putting up a front anymore, wasn’t planning out what he should or shouldn't say. He was fully himself.

* * *

**July 10, 2020**  
[Hi Mickey!](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b001cf537e1162bbb26e81df6b552a5c/089e7320ff54a6bc-24/s500x750/020045973d4aee7526dc5aa5b7a16e01450460c0.jpg)

That’s me, best looking redhead in the South Side. You’re the one who took a piss on 1st base during little league aren’t you? You’re that Mikovhich. 

I’ll make sure to thank Mandy, I mean she definitely saved me from a few beatings. Best friend I could have asked for, that’s for sure. We only reconnected a little while back, after I started writing to you, actually. 

I’m happy she’s doing well in Cali. Running a whole bakery, you must be proud as hell. I’m glad she got out. I used to think that’d be me; new state, far away from the South Side. Never even been on a plane. 

I’ve been on a helicopter though. Inside one, that is, didn’t actually manage to get it to fly. Which is why I had my run in with the military cops, actually. Didn’t set anything on fire, just fucked up their property. Not my smartest choice. 

And as for the juvie thing, hard pass. I got picked up once with my brother Lip, driving around a stolen car we didn’t know was stolen, it was a whole thing. But luckily it didn’t amount to anything. Went to group homes a few times though, those were miserable [enough](https://64.media.tumblr.com/bdf580492892e15193c857bbe8b59857/089e7320ff54a6bc-d6/s500x750/efaaa496addeaf8c1c37f81269c084c5d494376e.jpg). 

If it hadn't been for that big sister I mentioned, Fiona, I’m pretty sure we all would have rot in the system. Frank could give less than two shits about any of us unless we’re benefiting him in some way. So believe me, being associated with the Gallagher name never helped me either. 

But fuck it, you know? It’s not really something we can change but it doesn’t have to be our death sentence either. And fuck if I’m glad you want to stay out of prison. I’m working on my reputation, man, can’t have people thinking my letters drove you to crime again. 

I’m gonna confess something and I can already see you shitting on me, but here it goes: took me over 6 months to actually get up the courage to try and jack off inside. And when I finally did, it just felt weird as hell. I was barely ever alone and never comfortable. But now at least blue balls don’t fuck me up like they used to. Silver linings.

[The](https://64.media.tumblr.com/86572f9f6ed46091bd0026125077c2e3/089e7320ff54a6bc-02/s500x750/d08022245a6caccf29fe7d241e5e92666b931adc.jpg) Alibi is still a shithole but fuck if I’m not there every week. Been watching the Cubs with Kev and my brother, who are both superstitious as fuck and think that if we miss a game we’ll fuck up the entire season. When you’re out make sure you stop by for a drink. Kev will 100% have you drinking on the house. 

You should start making a list of all the shit you want to do when you’re a free man. I kept one when I was inside. My old cellmate used to be big on writing everything down, said it kept his brain young, used to swear that focusing on what was waiting for me would keep my spirits up or whatever. 

But since I didn’t really have a lot waiting for me, I’d just write down food I’d want to eat, places I’d want to go to. It actually did kinda help, gave me something to do, at least. You have any plans?

Talk to you later,  
Bye. 

[P.s](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3200055694b5b8b76ba5c1b53fa44df0/089e7320ff54a6bc-4c/s500x750/c3f5248920848b46588eb5e1b5ef93511f059356.jpg) I picked up an old copy of Jurassic Park I found laying around, not bad. They came out with a new movie a couple years ago, it was kinda bullshit but the special effects were cool, you should definitely check it out, add it to your list.

* * *

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Ian said as a form of greeting, when he walked through the door of their apartment to find Lip sitting on his usual stool behind the kitchen island. 

Lip had been running a bike shop for the last couple years, and while it wasn’t exactly rocket science - which Lip would excel at, no doubt - Ian was happy for his big brother.

The shop was doing well and Lip was 100% the brains behind it, which meant that usually he was drowning in work. Being at home at 5:42 pm on a Friday was not the norm. 

“I live here.” Lip replied easily, not bothering to look up from whatever he was reading. 

“Why aren’t you at the shop?” Ian prodded, making his way over to the fridge. It was hot as balls outside and he’d felt like he was overheating inside the crowded metal can better known as the El. 

_Mickey’s in for a rude fucking awekining when he gets back to public transportation and his precious orange line._

“Central AC busted so I had to send everyone home after lunch.” 

Ian grabbed his bottle of water and closed the fridge, turning to lean on it so he could face his brother. 

“Landlord only sent a guy to check out the place at like 3pm, and by then the day was lost anyways.” 

“Shit. Did it get fixed, at least?” Ian asked in between chugs. 

“Yea it all worked out.” Lip told him, an expression on his face Ian couldn't really read. “Got to start my weekend early, run some errands, pick up the mail...” 

Lip held up the paper that was in front of him then, filled with the messy handwriting Ian had come to know well.

“You opened my fucking mail?” Ian questioned incredulously, temporarily stunned in place, at the same time Lip aksed “What the fuck is this, Ian?”

“It’s none of your fucking buisness is what it is.” Ian roared, lunging to take the papers away from Lip’s grasp. 

With the letter in hand, Ian stormed out of the kitchen and headed to his room, fully intending to put some distance between him and his brother before he completely lost his cool. 

Only apparently that wasn’t what Lip had in mind.

“Since when do you talk to Mickey fucking Milkovich?” Lip challenged, following Ian down the hallway. “Since when do you two share about your past, about me, about your fucking family?”

“I don’t gotta answer to you, Lip. I can talk to whoever the fuck I want, about whatever the fuck I please.” Ian told the other man, spinning on his heels so he could get in his face, “Who the fuck gave you the right to go though my shit?” 

Lip scoffed, tilting his head as he stared into the taller man’s eyes. “Is he your little prison boyfriend or some shit? Is that why he’s asking about your dick?”

“Fuck you, Lip.” Ian spit out, shoving his brother. _Fuck keeping his cool._ “You don’t know shit.’

“Yeah?” Lip shoved him back. “Enlighten me then.”

“Mickey is my fucking friend, and yea he’s in prison, so was I remember? I don’t have to explain myself or my friendships to you.” Ian said as coldly as he could given the rage he was feeling. “Get the fuck out of my face and stay the fuck out my shit.” 

Lip just kept staring, neither man ready to back down. 

“Whatever this is Ian, it’s a mistake. A fucking death wish.” he said before turning around to leave the room, “One more to add to your pathetic list.”

Ian slammed the door shut behind Lip, his body trembling with anxious energy. He took a few breaths to steady himself - to keep himself from going after his brother and beating the shit out him - his thoughts too clouded by the anger he felt. 

_Who the fuck did he think he was? What gave him any fucking right?_

Too keyed up to do anything but pace, Ian picked up Mickey’s letter from where he’d thrown it on the bed and started reading, hoping the other man’s words could calm him down.

* * *

**July 27, 2020**

[Hotest Ginger](48600dc02fb68222d23c2d1ebd/9ff567cdbdfbab2a-9f/s540x810/02977b2f7506da30d3b34daf2578fea59493d025.jpg), fuck outa here. With your Justin Bieber haircut and all those damn freckles?  
And fuck you, at least I was a little badass. That asshole was lucky I didn’t take a swing on him with my bat.

Best thing Mandy ever did was get the fuck out of Chicago. Glad you dumped her when you did so she could leave your felon ass behind. Imagine your vampire looking ass in California? Would probably burn like a motherfucker. 

You tried stealing a helicopter? From the army? That‘s fucking hilarious and absolutely the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. How the fuck did you think that would go? And how the hell weren’t you sent to military jail for that shit? “Not my smartest choice” understatement of the year.

[The](https://64.media.tumblr.com/5d0c6139930bb9c47d14d856c529d45c/9ff567cdbdfbab2a-9b/s540x810/4d8c8d239dff4a96ea368673466b970e2dd1d22e.jpg) best thing is, this is coming from the same pussy who was scared of juvie. You’re a trip, man. But you’re right, the group homes were fucking trash. Only got sent once though, and I had my brothers, who actually knew how to fuck shit up. How's Phillip? Still an asshole I’m sure. 

Being a Gallagher means people associate you with a drunk and a scammer. Being a Milkovich means people associate me with attempted murder, selling drugs, moving weapons and shit. But whatever man, I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks about me. Helps that I don’t got shit to prove to anyone but myself. Don’t worry your pretty little head, when I become a model fucking citzen, I’ll tell people it was cause of you.

[1](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ef2862ad77169bfa4e7e0df827ba5dc0/9ff567cdbdfbab2a-8b/s400x600/ada6a5fc7cf8e278a06e7609ef04998d5e3304d2.jpg) year without getting off? Didn’t even stick it to anyone? Is your dick broken or some shit? 

God bless Kevin, patron saint of scums. Tell him I said sup and to get the good whiskey ready, that cheap motherfucker. Don’t want any of the watered down shit he always tried to pawn off. He fix the pool table yet? 

I’ve been here for almost 6 years, Gallagher. I could fill a notebook up with all the shit I want to eat. Woke up this morning and I swear I could taste banana pancakes. It’s my fucking specialty. Some crispy bacon on the side, all lathered up in syrup, I’m getting hard just thinking about it. But yea, I want to fucking drive again. Take a hot shower. Never pick up another set of weights in my life. The list is fucking endless. 

Your cellmate sounds like a geezer, but it’s not the worst advice. Gotta keep your head down when your parole date is coming up. Most places have assholes that like to stir shit up when they know someone’s about to get released. Fucked up. Seen a couple guys loose their chance to get out of here early cause of some dumb shit. So yea, good to have something you can do on your own. 

[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fb032f387348453df9fb375b9fb9385c/9ff567cdbdfbab2a-a7/s400x600/5445b9b907cae4ce9cb73da8d7520606915a1ec6.jpg)

Shit, if you liked the movie it probably means it’s trash. Is it like a new story?

Been bored out of my mind this month so I read Mr. Mercedes, don’t know if that’s one the ones you’ve read, but it was fucked up. Like Norman Bates, mommy issues, fucked [up](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9d13bb3cfb2a551bcbb42334fd08a75a/9ff567cdbdfbab2a-47/s400x600/f095145da734599ff49a330e641a2b3f8a3fcb7f.jpg).

* * *

As expected, Lip had interpreted everything completely wrong. 

Mickey had teased him about the past, seemed interested in what Ian shared. He’d been honest about his sister, the fucked up legacy behind his family name. He was trying. He was invested in their conversation.

The letter was longer than most, both their letters had become longer letely.

Fuck what Lip says.

And yea, Mickey had mentioned sex. It made complete sense within context, which of course the asshole knew none of. Ian was the one who had brought the topic up, this was just the other man’s way of continuing on the conversation, his crude attempt at getting more personal, maybe. It meant nothing. 

_Unless.._

Taking a seat on his bed, Ian fished out his phone from his pocket and clicked on his texts to Mandy. 

**[Ian (6:23):](https://64.media.tumblr.com/96bdf9d184c6d8a22cdf70a74a3be36d/c05e2a7722be8b81-bc/s540x810/df38f11b9107491d9f7a561e83b0cacace1db586.jpg)** Okay be honest  
**Ian (6:23):** Do you think Mickey knows I’m gay?  
**Mandy (6:24):** I have no idea  
**Mandy (6:24):** Pretty sure he knows you were my boyfriend  
**Mandy (6:24):** Why? 👀

He was exaggerating, of course he fucking was. 

**[Ian (6:26):](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9fb74b38b67069b808d3d819f64f435b/c05e2a7722be8b81-65/s540x810/5e9ecd95c802619528eca03c2b5a634041146655.jpg)** No reason, just curious.  
**Ian (6:26):** But what are the chances he’d want to beat shit out of me if and when he finds out I’m gay??  
**Mandy (6:27):** You’ll be fine  
**Mandy (6:27):** Mick’s not like that  
**Ian (6:28):** 🙏🏻 (praying hands emoji)  
**Mandy (6:28):** 🌚 (dark moon emoji)  
**Ian (6:29):** 🙄(eye roll emoji)

Putting the phone down, Ian opened the drawer of his bedside table and got out his notebook. Lip was right, he had made a lot of mistakes, but being honest with Mickey - this friendship they both were building, he knew it wasn’t going to one of them

* * *

**July 31, 2020**

[Hi Mickey!](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e84c96146c87ce8b644d582fd4f19930/ebb72c1220208461-8e/s540x810/9e92c314600886771e06e792a310deae5c64ac92.jpg)

Bullshit, if you remember my scrawny phase you probably remember my growth spurt. I sure as hell remember I had at least a good 5 inches on you, bud.

Fuck you, but I agree, I’m glad Mandy moved out without me. I wasn’t the best company to be around for a while. Definitely wouldn’t have wanted for her to have to deal with my shit, it’s bad enough what I put my family through. 

Aka them having to deal with a 17 year old facing up to 5 years in military prison. 

When I say I was crazy for doing what I did, I mean it. All the product of a manic episode.  
I’m not really sure what I thought would happen, when I think back a lot of it just blurs together, nothing’s really clear. But given the fact I was a fucking mess and underage, the charges didn’t stick. 

So yea, best thing for Mandy was me not being around to fuck it up for her. Would have been nice though, in another life. I’m pretty sure I could get a tan if I lived by the beach, they must have sun kissed redheads in California. 

[You’re right](https://64.media.tumblr.com/43dd03793a32848d23f654791b3f014e/ebb72c1220208461-e4/s500x750/8ea530ef571b2a9a825f3926aacfc9522741d752.jpg), Lip’s still a fucking asshole. 

Gallagher or Milkovich, we both got fucked over in the father department, and believe me I got fucked over twice. Shit just means the bar’s on the fucking floor, man. All I gotta do to be better than Frank is not drink myself to death or screw over anyone I come in contact with - including my own family. As long as you’re not a raging, homophobic, neo-nazi and you get yourself a legit job? Boom, you’re already better than Terry ever was. 

My dick works fine and as appealing as all that sounds, I’d rather have sex without the fear of getting hate crimed. Not knowing if I’d get shanked at any given point of the day really helped sell me on celibacy inside, especially considering the chances of said shanking would tripple if word got around that I actually prefered fucking men. Morning wood was my only real problem but come on, you telling me you’ve never ignored that shit? 

As for Kevin, he said beggars can’t be choosers, but that he’ll throw in his finest edibles since you’re an old friend. And yes, the pool table is fixed. Was it ever broken? What’s the story behind that?

[In](https://64.media.tumblr.com/042af35dca63d2ae1aadd97709752920/ebb72c1220208461-c4/s500x750/d814ff664c191c451bb425b655fd0f5434121b4b.jpg) your honor I’m making banana pancakes this weekend. I’m sure they'll turn out BOMB. I don’t mean to brag but I’m a great fucking cook. Got really into it last year. Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to tell you to be prepared to fuck around and accidently burn yourself. 

It’s like the lukewarm coffee they serve us in prison imprints on the brain. I’ve burned the roof of my mouth a million fucking times already cause I forget how hot hot cofee actually is. Same goes for hot showers. Sounds dramatic but I’m serious. 

Garrett was a good guy. He’s the reason I chose to write letters instead of emails.  
He’d write and receive letters all the time so he always had something to look forward to. All I had were the phonecalls I’d make to family, and there’s only so much you can discuss when you’re in prison and the person on the other side of the phone has no idea what that’s like. 

[Felt](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4d6b6b7d0511e28eb720ed076607b76f/ebb72c1220208461-f0/s500x750/76f861e5d8bae77fb36f73ff0951081a7d741fac.jpg) like I could never talk to them about my actual life. How do you tell someone who’s never been locked up about how fucked it was to have to deal with your cellmate’s diarrhea that week, him shitting 2 feet away from you the whole fucking night, or how the highlight of your day was getting to stitch up a guy who got stabbed over a jello cup? 

I mean it’s not like it was their fault, of course, and I was glad they even wanted to talk to me at all but yea. If you ever want to talk to someone who might get it, even if it’s just to vent about the shitty food you got served that day, or whatever, my number’s (872) 999-3212.

I hope you’ve been keeping your head down, you’re so close to being done. Like I told you I spent most of my days at the infirmary. Right up to the end I was either always there or at the library. Tried the whole out of sight out of mind approach. Are you still on laundry duty?

And yeah, Mr. Mercedes was fucked up. I’m not a fan of detective books but I didn’t mind it with that one, was actually sort of rooting for the pigs. Fuck Stephen King for having me synpathizing with a cop while sitting in a jail cell.

A patient of mine recommended Pet Semetery, which I didn’t get around to when I was inside, so I just picked it up. Apparently it’s creepy as fuck. You should check if they have it there, I’m told it’s a “page turner’.

Talk to you later,  
[Bye.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b00887455b2d4120f14564bab671a16a/ebb72c1220208461-0f/s500x750/bde02d85864a68c20bd5634921c7b1630c860447.jpg)

* * *

The next week went on as expected, Ian not speaking to Lip and Lip acting like he was the one who’d been wronged somehow. He’d even told Fiona his version of events, something Ian only found out after he’d called his sister, on his way home from work the following Wednesday.

“Hey Fi. Sorry I missed your call, I get shit reception in the station. What’s up?” 

“It’s okay. You free to talk?” 

“Yea, just walking to the apartment, you okay?” Ian asked his sister, picking up on the worried tone of her voice. 

“I’m fine, it’s actually you I want to talk about. What’s going on with you and Mickey, Ian?”

Ian felt like he’d been sucker punched. _Of course that asshole had to find a way to make shit worse._

“You’ve been talking to Lip, huh? Great. Did he tell you he opened my mail? You know that’s a fucking federal crime?” 

“Ian, you told me you were writing to Mickey as a part of an program or something, that it was set up by your parole officer..”

“I am” Ian interrupted her. 

“So why is Lip telling me you two are talking about family and the Alibi? About sex?” Fiona grilled him, clearly worried.

“Lip got one stand alone letter, he doesn’t know shit. Mick and I talk about a lot of things, about prison, about the past, the neighborhood - what’s the same and what’s changed. What can change, for him especially. We’re friends now, but I’m still trying to help him, that’s how the program works.” 

Sure Ian didn’t know the inner workings of the program - he didn’t get a model, a perfect how-to - but he knew his intentions were in the right place. At the end of the day, if Mickey got anything out of his letters, Ian hoped it was that he had someone on his side. That life was waiting for him out here. 

“How is talking about sex-”

“It’s not like that!” Ian shouted into the phone. Taking a breath, he tried again, “We were talking about prison, about how different everything is when you’re there, like how I didn’t even think about sex the entire time I was inside. It’s shit only someone who’s gone through something like that gets,” he paused, took a breath. “That’s the whole point of this, Fiona. To connect people who lived through similar experiences. It’s not meant to be nitpicked by someone who doesn’t know what fuck he’s talking about.”

“We just worry about you, Ian.” Fiona responded after a beat. Her voice soft, full of maternal concern she shouldn’t have to feel. 

“You don’t have to. I’m not a loose fucking cannon about to explode. I’m an adult. I don’t invade your privacy, or Lip’s, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t invade mine,” 

He sighed, willing himself not to jump down his sister's throat. 

“I was honest with you from the beginning and I’m being honest with you now. My friendship with Mickey is not a problem, certainly not your guys' problem.”

“Okay.” she said, sounding resigned. 

“So this discussion is over, okay? I don’t want to hear anymore of this shit. If there’s something to tell you, and if I want to tell you, I will.” Ian told his sister as he walked into the lobby of his building. 

“Yeah, I understand. I love you, okay? Lip does-”

“You too, Fiona. Bye” Ian interjected and hung up. 

That night, instead of meeting his brother at the Alibi like they’d been doing for the past couple of months, Ian changed into sweats and went out for a run, hoping to get out all the pent up aggression he was harboring. 

Around mile 9, he got a [text](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1207475b5be23317e1c507663ce80f8b/b6337ef63180b097-3c/s640x960/20ef22773378bf1b0409ee711dc9e787ff8f8b9d.png) . 

**Lip (9:18):** Cubs lost and I’m out 150 bucks, Fuck you.

 _Good_.

Ian finished his run with a grin on his face. 

Come Saturday night, Ian decided the best thing he could do was to lay off steam with a good lay. It’d been a couple weeks since he’d had sex and he desperately needed a release.

He opened Grindr and started scrolling through profiles, unconsciously honing in on pale brunettes. But just as he was about to check the messages that had popped up for him, a [call](https://64.media.tumblr.com/809102dd5f06fd72948b1eaf21653c90/de71aaeff2c9a074-d8/s1280x1920/2cf80a3d92c7f78f8848c2b9e613317f736f91a9.jpg) came in from a number he didn’t recognize.

So Ian did the logical thing, he pressed answer.

_“Hello, You are about to receive a Prepaid Call from Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich, an inmate housed at Cook County Penitentiary. If you still want to accept this Prepaid call, please say Accept or touch *1. To refuse this Prepaid Call please say Refuse or press *2._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> So I broke this chapter up into two, not sure exactly why but it jsut felt right considering how much I wrote (over 10k!) so I'm going with it. Here's the first part, the next one will be up tomorrow (pr maybe tonight?). 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support, it's kept me going and every single comment brightens up my day. Y'all are the best. 
> 
> That being said, let me know what you think!  
> Sending you all so much love. Xx

_“Hello, You are about to receive a Prepaid Call from Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich, an inmate housed at Cook County Penitentiary. If you still want to accept this Prepaid call, please say Accept or touch *1. To refuse this Prepaid Call please say Refuse or press *2._

* * *

Ian shot up from where he lay on his bed, heart hammering so hard in his chest he briefly worried he was having heart palpitations. _calm the fuck down!_ he urged himself, to no avail.

_''This call is subject to monitoring and recording."_

“Hey Gallagher,” 

_Fuck,_

Mickey sounded different than Ian thought he would, different than the voice he’d conjured up in his head, the one he’d hear whenever he read his letters. The man had only said two words to him, but Ian knew he would never forget this rough, melodic voice again. 

“Hi Mickey!” he exclaimed, too swept up to be fully embarrassed about how ridiculously unchill he knew he sounded. His palms already impossibly sweaty.

He maneuvered himself so he could hold the cellphone with his shoulder, wiping both hands on his soft, gray sweat shorts as he sat on the edge of his queen size bed. 

“Really? You gonna stick to ‘Hi Mickey exclamation point’ even over the goddamn phone?” Mickey bitched at him, clearly _trying_ to sound annoyed.

“That’s how people greet each other, Mick. Granted I wouldn't be surprised if you didn’t know that, considering this is the first time you've ever actually greeted me.”

He stretched over to his bedside table and fished out the Next Chapters packet he’d stashed inside the drawer, flipping over to the page with Mickey’s profile. Stupidly needing to look at the face man he was speaking to.  
.  
“Jesus.” Mickey sighed, and Ian could imagine him rolling his eyes - those icy blue eyes that jumped off the page. 

“Nah, just Ian is fine.”. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna hang up.” 

“Alright alright, I’m sorry.” Ian appeased before continuing. “What’s up, man? 

“So much, it’s really poppin’ in here.” 

“Well what’d you eat today?” he joked, alluding back to his last letter.

“Jello, remember those?” Mickey quipped back, no doubt with a smirk. 

“Fuck you.” Ian said with fake indignation. 

He got off his bed to walk around the room. Too jittery now to stand still. “You better share this contact you have when you’re out.” 

“The fuck I do. Not my fault your dumbass didn’t think ahead.”

“You ever heard of friends helping friends?” 

“Nah, must have missed that kindergarten lesson.” Mickey jabbed back, matching his tone. 

“Just goes to show how in need of a role model you were. Good thing you found me.” 

“Oh yeah, I bet your crazy pyro ass can teach me a bunch of shit.”

“Stick with me, kid.” Ian said with a laugh as he registered Mickey’s exaggerated sigh 

There was a lull in the conversation then, surprisingly comfortable despite how new this dynamic was between them. 

Ian stopped his pacing to stand in front of the full sized mirror hanging off his closet door. He could see the flush that had made its way up his neck and cheeks, his chest rising up and down quickly, as if to match the beating of his heart. A small smile still on his lips. He looked as flustered as he felt.

Ian wondered what the expression on the other man’s face looked like. 

“I..uh.. found Pet Semetery.” the redhead heard Mickey say, his voice a bit lower, more shy than it’d been during their initial easy back and forth. 

“Oh really? Have you started it?” Ian asked as he turned away from the mirror and head over to the beat up desk where he’d kept his book,

“Just the first chapter.”

“Good,” he said, taking a seat in the flimsy office chair he’d taken from the old house when they moved. “I’m only on chapter 3.”

“It’s fucking boring so far.” the man grumbled. 

The sudden grumpiness inexplicably made Ian grin, _always a victim to the Milkoviches brand of charm._

“It’ll get better, so I'm told.” 

The hospice patient who’d recommended Ian the book, Mr. Garrison ‘but call me Earl’, was one of the most adorable residents he’d had the pleasure of treating; a perfect lookalike of the grandpa in Disney’s Up. Incidentally, he was the biggest horror fan Ian had ever met. 

There was no horror movie the man hadn’t seen, no horror book he hadn't read. An idle comment from Ian turned into a bond over their shared reading interests, and since then, every so often he’d pass off one his favorite books to the young aid. “If you read enough horor, you’ll be better prepared to deal with the real world, young man.” he’d tell Ian, “trust me.” 

“Yeah, yeah..” Mickey placated, but after a beat asked “How are the Cubs?

“Oh, they lost to the Red Sox this week,” Ian told him as he put the book down, sounding sheepish even to himself.

“Why the fuck do you sound guilty?” 

“I might have missed the game..” 

The loss wasn’t Ian's fault, obviously. He wasn’t actually superstitious enough to believe their bogus tradition had any real influence over the game’s turn out. And fuck if not going to the bar on Wednesday hadn’t been the best decision for him at the time. 

But Ian had the awful tendency of feeling guilty about everything, even shit that was out of his control. 

“So you fucked up their best season?” 

He breathed out before answering, “there’s always next year,” 

Of course it was the first thing that made Mickey genuinely laugh. 

“I’m gonna start calling you Billy,” he told Ian, clearly amused by the man’s unnecessary suffering. 

“Great. Another insane nickname to add to the list,” Ian pointed out, to which Mickey only scoffed.

They were both quiet for a bit when Ian heard someone on Mickey’s side of the line yell out “get off the phone, birthday boy,” accompanied by a gruff “fuck off” from Mickey himself. 

The realization that it was Mickey’s birthday, that he’d called him **ON** hIs birthday, whether significant or not, filled Ian with an unexpected warmth, a flutter in his stomach. 

_You need to stop!_ He was letting himself get swept up, acting like a goodmant teenager, It was stupid and dangours.

But Mickey **had** called him.  
.  
“It’s your birthday.” he heard himself state, so soft it was almost a whisper,

“Umm..yeah.” Mickey said back, sounding a little uncomfortable, embarrassed, as if he’d meant to keep it all a secret. “I gotta go, though. There’s a line.”

“Yea okay. It was great talking to you, Mick” 

If Ian was being honest, it'd been the most exciting thing that’d happened to him for quite some time. 

“Uhum.” the other man quietly agreed.

“Happy birthday.” he told Mickey, thinking back to the birthday message he’d gotten in the other man’s letter months ago.

“Talk to you later?” he then asked, hoping his usual greeting would make the man laugh.. 

It sorta worked. Mickey huffed out a short, quiet chuckle before saying “Bye, Gallagher.”

The warmth Ian felt lingered for long after they’d hung up. 

All plans of finding a random hookup to fill his night completely forgotten as he swiveled around in his chair, giving into how good he currently felt. 

He supposed it was the natural progression of things, after all he’d given Mick his number for a reason. It wasn’t ludicrous to expect a phone call, nor did it mean actually anything. 

Perhaps he’d been bored, wanted to switch up his night, especially considering it was his birthday. Ian himself had spent his 21st birthday inside, and obviously it’d been bullshit. 

If he'd had a friend then, one completely apart from his family, that he knew wouldn’t judge him for where he was or more importantly, that wouldn't pity him because of it, he’d probably would have wanted to call them, too. 

But to think that maybe Mickey saw him as that kind of friend as well? Yeah, that felt good. 

**

It’d been just about two weeks since Ian and Lip’s fight, and the two brothers still hadn’t made peace. But the tension in the air whenever they were in the same room together, was no longer fueled by anger, only pride. 

After the Cubs incident, Lip had briefly given up on his tactic of tacitly making up. But by the time the next Wednesday rolled around, Ian could see a chip in his brother’s resolve. Evidenced by the fact he’d left out a full pot of coffee before leaving early for the shop.

It was as close to a sorry as he was going to get from Lip, or at least until he acquiesced and broke this unspoken battle of wills. 

_Fine._

On Thursday, he took the opportunity that Lip was still in bed when he got up, and started making them breakfast. Quite ironically, he made the same banana pancakes he’d written to Mickey about in his last letter. 

When Lip exited his room - no doubt overpowered by the smell of all the fresh food that sat on the kitchen island - the man wandered over, hesitantly standing by the stools.

“Eat it before it gets cold.” Ian told him, rolling his eyes at the sight of his brother’s vindicated expression. 

“So you’re talking to me now?” Lip asked him, forcibly cooling his tone as to come off nonchalant. _The fucking idiot._

“You don’t think I’m gonna apologize for getting mad at your blatant disrespect, do you?”

Lip held his gaze for a minute “Look, I know I overstepped. But what the fuck, Ian?”

“Yeah, you’re right, what the actual fuck, Lip? So we don’t trust each other’s space anymore? You don’t respect the fact that I’m fucking grown? Think I'm some crazy asshole who’s always looking for trouble? What was it you said? ‘Another pathetic death wish?’”

“God, of course not, man,” Lip shook his head. “ I’m sorry I said that. I dont’t thnk any of that shit, and I know you’re fucking grown. But I worry about you. Not because I don’t trust you, but because you're my brother.”

Ian crossed his arms, irritated despite knowing his brother was telling the truth, and that he was just too much of a jackass to understand he couldn’t invade Ian’s privacy whenever he worried.

“Yeah well that’s not how you go about it, Lip. If there was something to worry about, you should trust that I’d tell you.”

Ian turned and grabbed both their coffee mugs from where they were placed next to the machine. Pouring a generous amount into each before handing it off to Lip. 

“Thanks.” the man muttered automatically, but not letting it derail him from the topic in hand. “So is it true what Fiona told me?” Lip asked as he took a seat. “You and Milkovich court mandated pen pals now?”

Ian rolled his eyes again, knowing full well that hadn’t been what Fiona had passed on.

“Not court mandated but yes, we started writing to each other ‘cause of a program my old P.O set up. But I meant it when I told you we’re friends now. We’re still participating in the program, but it’s an actual friendship too.”

“Sounds pretty gay.” 

The words were ridiculous and surely meant to get a rise out of him, but Lip hadn’t meant it as a joke, not really. Ian knew his brother well enough to know he was digging.. 

Ian turned grab two plates from the cabinet behind him, “Not gay, Lip. Queer people are allowed to be friends with straight people, you know? And before you ask, he does know I’m gay and it’s not a problem.”

After putting a stack of pancakes on each plate, Ian handed it to his brother with a smug smirk on his face. 

“And most importantly, he knows you're still an asshole. So there. You’re all caught up.”

Lip squinted his eyes as if trying to make his mind up about something. “Fine. So you’re friends. Whatever. Just watch your back. Guy’s way more hardcore than you are, i don’t give shit if you think that just because you’ve been to prison you two are suddenly on the same level.”

“Never said we were. Pretty sure he tried to kill his dad, though from what I’ve heard of the deadbeat, Mickey was pretty justified in trying.”

“Funny how the courts didn't see it that way.” Lip snarked between bites. 

Ian took a sip of his coffee, “Not that it matters either way. I don’t care why he did what he did, he’s my friend. So this conversation is over.”

“Fine.” his brother told him with a shrug. “Not my problem.”

They ate their breakfast in silence for a bit, the tension dissipating with every second that passed.

“Kev says you owe him 300 bucks.” 

Ian laughed, almost spitting out his drink in the process and just like that, peace was restored in the Gallagher household.

**

When Ian’s phone rang on Saturday night, the same unknown number flashing on his [screen](https://64.media.tumblr.com/809102dd5f06fd72948b1eaf21653c90/de71aaeff2c9a074-d8/s1280x1920/2cf80a3d92c7f78f8848c2b9e613317f736f91a9.jpg), the flood of warmth Ian hadn’t felt all week suddenly rushed back. 

He got off the couch, indicating to Lip he was gonna talk a call while he walked to his room, promptly shutting the door so he could have some privacy. 

“Hi Mickey!” the redhead teased once the recording ended, hearing an exasperated sigh coming through the other side. . 

“Do you know how annoying you are?” 

Ian laughed, “it’s concerning how badly you deal with every day greetings.”

“Fuck off.” Mickey told him with no bite. 

Ian walked over to open the window so he could sit out on the fire escape and get some fresh air, his body already feeling impossibly hot, and not because of the temperature in the apartment. “How’s Cook County?” 

“Fucking peachy.” Mickey retorted, voice dripping in playful sarcasm. “Real 5 star hotel.” 

“You still on laundry duty?” he asked the man as he leaned on the railing, looking out to the street below him. 

The coffee shop in front of their building, that at night turned into some overpriced hipster bar, was already gathering it’s usual crowd. One that no doubt Mickey would absolutely hate. It made Ian smile just thinking about it.

“Uhum.. boring as shit, but it’s whatever. How’s your job? You like a nurse or something?” 

“Sort of? Technically I’m an aid.” Ian clarified. “I took some nursing classes at Marion, and I was an EMT before that, but I don’t have a college degree or anything. I work at a hospice and palliative care center.”

“Hospice? So like you take care of old people?” 

Ian chuckled at the slight repulsion in the man’s voice, “Some patients are ederly, yea, but there’s people of all ages, actually. In palliative care especially. The center ammits anyone who’s in the late stages of a terminal illness.”

“Damn, that sounds sad as hell.” 

“It can be, sometimes.” Ian told him honestly, exhaling as he turned back from the ledge, positioning himself to take a seat by the window stile.

“But it’s a great job. I got really lucky, all thanks to my parole officer. Hopefully you get assigned to him, he’s a great guy.”

“We’ll see about that, red.” the other man scoffed. “People only help who they think deserves it.”

“By that logic I’m sure he’d help you, Mick.”

Mickey sniffed, probably uncomfortable by the slight flattery. ‘“Whatever. Got a job lined up already, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh shit really? That’s great! What with?”

Before Ian got released, both LIp and Fiona had assured him they could hook him up with a job to appease his parole. It’d meant he could take the time to look for something he actually enjoyed without the pressure weighing down on him. 

If it had come down to it and Ian felt Mickey needed the help, he’d no doubt, talk to his siblings in the hopes of working something out for his friend. But fuck if it wasn’t a tremendous relief to know the other man already had some stuff figured out for his release, less things for Mickey to stress about.

“Carpentry. I,uh, got into my second year here. They had trade classes and shit. The instructor’s a good guy. Has a shop.” 

“Wow! So what do you make?”

“Mostly furniture. cabinetry or trimming - so like custom cabinets, doors, windows, shit like that.” Mickey told him bashfully, which only made Ian smile wider. 

He wondered if Mickey was the type to blush when he was even mildly embarrassed, if he tried to cool his expressions so he could remain aloof and unvexed, the typical macho South SIde mannerisms. 

“Damn, Milkovich. I’m impressed. I can’t do shit my hands, can barely assemble an ikea dresser.”

The admission made Mickey chuckle, and Ian couldn’t stand how happy he felt at hearing the sound. 

“Well keep your dayjob, nurse Jackie.”

“Have you always been interested in stuff like that?”

“Nah man, wasn’t interested in shit when I was younger. But I, uh, wasn’t really good at staying out of trouble when I got here. Was gonna end up adding years to my sentence if I kept it up.”

Mickey paused for a beat.

“A counselor in here was on my ass about doing something with my time, so I signed up for the least boring shit they offered. Turns out I didn’t suck at it.”

“That’s really cool, man.” he told him, unable to keep the awe he felt out of his voice. 

“It’s whatever.”

The men fell into an easy silence, and things were so still that Ian could hear Mickey breathe, shallow exhales that sounded so loud in that moment, that caused his heart to clench. 

Despite how stupid Ian knew he was being, he wished he could stay that way for the rest of the night, minutes slipping into hours, completely lost in the almost inaudible hitches of Mickey’s breaths. In the absurdity of his own feelings. 

But reality pulled him back in when he heard a shuffling on Mickey’s end of the line, followed by him telling someone beyond Ian’s field of hearing, “Fuck you, Rodriguez,”

“You gotta go?”

“Probably should.” 

“Go.” Ian told him. The last thing he wanted was for Mickey to get into a fight over something stupid. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Bye.” 

When the call ended and he’d pocketed his phone, Ian took a long breath and looked up to the sky. 

The early August weather meant scalding sunny days, and cloudiness nights, but even with the clearest of skies, someone in the South Side of Chicago would never see much. 

That night, Ian saw only two scattered stars, almost if on opposite sides of the moon. He refused to be that _emo_ as to think it was representative of him and Mickey. Representative of how he was clearly crushing on someone who was so distant from him - both physically and emotionally. 

He shook his head, muttering _fucking idiot_ to himself as he ducked back into his room. 

_The gay man who can’t have straight friends without catching feelings. The worst kind of cliche._ He needed to get a grip. He needed to get laid. 

Instead, he took a shower and turned in for the night.

**

Ian heard the sound of someone pounding on the front door of his apartment, the doorbell going off like crazy. 

“Fucking Lip!” the redhead roared as he ripped the sheets off himself. “Did you loose your fucking keys again?” he bellowed out, hoping his dickhead brother could hear him. 

Lip had the incredibly annoying tendency to lose his keys. Which always ended in one of them having to talk Fiona or Vee into smooth talking the creepy locksmith on 5th - the only one who’d copy their deadbolt key without taking into account the ‘do not duplicate’ inscription. 

“You're the one calling Fi this time.” he told his brother as he unlocked and opened the door. 

Only it wasn’t his brother on the other side. 

“Who’s Fi?” asked Mickey with a smirk, 

_What. The. Fuck._

“This can’t be real. You can’t actually be at my door.” 

MIckey crossed his arms and leaned on the frame, clearly amused with Ian’s disbelief, “Yet here I am. You gonna invite me in?”

Ian still couldn’t comprehend what was actually happening, but the other man took his silence as an answer and pushed his way into the apartment. 

“Nice place you got here, Gallagher. Very golden boy of you,”  
“How are you not in prison? And how do you know where I live?” Ian asked incredulously. 

“They anticipated my release ‘cause of overcrowding,” the man said with a shrug, turning back to Ian so he could continue, “and your address was on the envelope of all the letters you sent me, genius. Figured I’d pay you a visit.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you just tell me yesterday?”

Mickey smirked at him like he was still the world’s most endearing morron. “What and miss the dumbass look on your face? How’s that fun for me?”

That was probably why Mickey had started calling him, Ian concluded. He’d known he was getting out soon and hoped they’d meet up, like actual friends. It made sense.

Snapped out of his confused haze, Ian took the time to actually look at the man before him. 

Mickey was a fucking sight to see. His hair was even darker than Ian remembered and his eyes were impossibly blue, sparkling from the enjoyment he was probably getting at Ian’s expense 

The tee he wore showed off his muscular arms, skin milky white. Fuck. _So much for getting over him now._

Ian clearly hadn’t been inconspicuous, might have even been drooling, cause Mickey flashed him a dazzling grin. “Like what you see, firecroth?”

He gulped, already feeling his cheek burn in embrasement. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad.” 

And because his day couldn’t get any more unexpected, Mickey took a step towards him. 

“Didn’t get a lot of action in the joint, man. No one around except the ugly motherfuckers in my cell block. Had to go solo, you know? Get creative.”

Ian could feel the blood literally cursing though his body, rushing south at an alarming rate. _Fuck_

“So I thought up a bunch of scenarios, and eventually, some of them involved you.” the man said, taking another step forward. 

His smile had now turned wicked and as he licked his bottom lip, Ian’s breath became more labored. 

When he’d come out to Mickey, as casually as he could, he’d assumed it wouldn't lead to much - at best Mickey would ignore it and they could still be friends, st worse Mandy had gotten it wrong and he’d have a bull's eye on his forehead. 

But never had he imagined it’d lead to this, not even after he’d secretly begun wishing for it. 

And yet here they were.

The redhead watched as the object of his latest fascination stopped to stand directly in front of him, so close he could feel the warmth of his breath, could smell the slight tinge of his sweat. 

“Figured I’d come see if you live up to the imaginary hype.”

Ian had just enough time to take a deep breath before Mickey grabbed him by his t-shirt and smashed their lips together. Realizing what was happening, he brought his arm around to hold the back of Mickey’s head, digging his fingers into his hair as Mickey got his tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss. 

It was hungry and passionate in a way Ian hadn’t kissed in years, maybe not ever. 

Desperate to close any space between them, he grabbed the man by the waist, bringing their bodies as close as he could. Mickey mirrored his actions, bringing an arm to rest on his hair and roping the other around his waist. He grabbed Ian’s ass and whimpered into his mouth when Ian squeezed his ass back.

Ian instinctively thrusted in the other man’s direction. Lining up their groins as best he could given the height difference. 

“So fucking hard already.” Mickey moaned, breaking their kiss so he could suck on the taller man’s neck, the grip on his hair still painfully and deliciously tight. 

“I **need** to fuck you.” Ian husked out, a silent prayer that the brunette in his arms would be down for that.

But before he could lead Mickey to the closest possible surface, he heard a voice call out “Uncle Ian!”

_Who the fuck was that? Couldn't they see he was busy?_

Only the next thing he knew, the apartment was shaking.. 

**“Uncle Iannnnn, wake up!!”**

It’d been a dream, Ian registered as he came to. _Of course it’s been a fucking dream._

Opening his eyes, Ian found his helion of a niece kneeling on his bed, little hands gripping his left shoulder.

“What did I tell you about waking people up, Fran?” 

The little redhead pouted and titled her head to the side as if deep in thought, “Don’t remember.”

“Yeah? Well let me remind you!” He roared as he turned to grab the little girl, playfully knocking her down on the bed so he could tickle her. 

“Ahh!! Stoop!” Franny screeched between giggles, trying to ward off his attack. “You said it wasn’t nice, I remember! I remember!”

“Well you have to remember that before you do it, okay?” 

“I promise!” she assured her uncle once he’d quit.

“Good. Now go find Uncle Lip so I get ready for the morning.”

Once the little girl was out of his room, running down the hall with all the energy in the world, Ian finally had the time to let himself mourn the fact he’d been woken up from a perfect dream. Instead ,all he felt was shame. 

Shame over the fact he was no better than a hormonal teenager, over the fact he was projecting his feelings onto a guy who’d been nothing but nice to him. 

Mickey hadn't even once stepped over any boundaries, and yet there he was, having wet dreams about the other man.. 

The whole thing was so incredibly shameful that all Ian could do was bring his hands to his face and hope he could will some goodman sense into that dumb head of his.

After a bit, he took a long breath and rolled off his bed. Now ironically thankful for the toddler intrusion, a certified boner killer.

And as he thought about, he once again felt a wave of shame. he’d been mere seconds away from fucking his _stright friend, whom he’d hadn’t seen in person in literal years._ Granted it was a dream, but stil..

He’d been minutes away from waking up with soiled boxers and the undeniable horniess that came with any vivid sex dream. Horniess, that in this case, would have been directly linked to Mickey.

God, he was so incredibly fucked up. 

Unable to control shit in his life.

Not the chemicals in his brain, nor his unconscious mind, and apparently not even his own stupid, massoquesistc heart.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! As promised, here’s part 2!
> 
> Yall’s reaction to the first part was **everything** I could’ve dreamed of! I was so excited to see the reactions to that dream bit. Your comments really do mean the world.

And if the theme of Ian’s week was his lack of control, boy did it show. 

Over the next few days, it seemed like anything that could go wrong, did go wrong. 

On Monday there was flooding on the track of the Orange Line, which would have been inconvenient but not actually a problem had the L shut down before he got on it for his commute to work. Luckily for him _(or so he thought at the time)_ , the station that flooded was only two stops away from the Centre, meaning that there was no need for him to catch a bus. Again, not really a problem if not for the fact it started downpouring the minute Ian started walking. 

In conclusion, he’d arrived to work completely soaked, and because he’d forgotten to bring in the substitute pair of scrubs he’d needed to replace irregardlessly, it meant he spent the better half of his morning looking like the after picture of a cheap 90’s diet pill infomercial.

And by the time Friday came around, Ian wished more than anything that all his problems that week had been as simple as unexpected rainstorms and ill fitting uniforms.

You see, there were so many aspects of his new career path that Ian absolutely loved.

He got hands-on experience treating wounds, got taught what medications helped ease certain ailments, and was expected to actively care for the same patients during a prolonged period of time. All things that worked towards making Ian a better professional, and he was glad for it, eager to learn.

But as rewarding as working with hospice and palliative care was, it also meant Ian had to deal with death and pain in a way he never had to before. 

He’d lost quite a few patients while he was an EMT, but somehow it was as if those deaths were never truly connected to him. Sure, he‘d mourned the victims, felt the unjust frustration that every health worker becomes familizered with, but very rarely did he actually have some sort of tie to the patient, and that barrier was fundamental. 

Whereas with this job, caring for the same patients day in and say out, Ian inevitably forged bonds with most of them. So when a patient of his was having a particularly hard week, when they were in pain or despair, it was much more personal to him. When a patient passed, he felt it all the more.

Dealing with the loss, the grief, without letting it take a toll on his mental health was proving to be a professional lesson Ian still struggled with. 

On Friday afternoon, after witnessing the passing of Earl Garrison, the second patient to pass just that week, Ian broke down in the break room and then immediately called Dr. Bradshaw for an emergency virtual sesion. . 

**

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Ian but I’m glad you called.” Dr. Bradshaw said to him softly. once he’d caught her up on what had been happening since their last session on Wednesday. 

“Have you identified any new triggers since we last spoke?” 

Ian had been seeing Dr. Darlene Bradshaw regularly for well over a year. Surprisingly, she’d come recommended to him by one of his supervisors, whose sister had also been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and raved about the doctor. 

Ian had always been a private person, especially when it came to sensitive details about his personal life, but he’d moved past the fantasy of being able to keep his diagnosis hidden, especially from his bosses. And luckily this time, it had proven to be one of the best choices Ian could have made for his mental health. 

Though he hadn’t faced a depressive episode since he and Dr. Bradshaw started working together, she’d helped him compose a list of triggers both she and Ian should look out for. 

During his session on Wednesday, the Doctor told him that while it was important for him to be alert of his feelings and behaviours, he also needed to understand that it was natural to feel down, given the week he was having. And that it didn't necessarily mean he was slipping into a more concerning state of mind. 

“No triggers,” Ian told her as he held up the phone, “I haven’t noticed anything new but now I’m just worried it’ll get worse, cause I'm still not feeling well rested. I still feel like I’m waking up just as tired as when I went to bed.”

He sighed, frustrated with the world, with his body and his brain.

“I’m not exhausted, it’s not that bone tired feeling from when it’s bad, but it’s like there’s a brooding cloud over my head, you know? It’s kinda hard to explain it exactly, I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize Ian.” Dr. Bradshaw assured him calmly, “These are hard things to identify, but you’ve done a great job. Now tell me, have you been eating? We didn’t touch upon your appetite on Wednesday.”

“I’m eating. I mean, I might not have eaten as much as I normally would, but it wasn’t cause I felt sick or anything like that. Still had lunch and dinner pretty much everyday.”

“Okay, good. Keep eating as you feel you need to, even if it’s in a reduced quantity. But try to keep up your protein intake like we’ve discussed.” she paused for a moment, as if in thought, before continuing. “I’m still going to hold off on upping your dosage of Lamotrigine, but I want you to take the day off tomorrow as well all of next week, at the very least until Thursday.”

Ian nodded his agreement. 

“Stick to your sleep schedule as best you can, but if you feel you need the rest it’s okay to add in a couple hours of sleep tomorrow morning, after you’ve taken your medication.” she told him, and even through the screen Ian could feel the sense of certitude Dr. Bradshaw seemed to embody - the same he felt during their in person sessions. 

“I’m also going to ask that you keep note of what you're feeling throughout the week, so that later on we can use this to help differentiate what you’re feeling now from other depressive-like moments.” 

Before Ian could think to complain, she added, “I know you don’t like journaling, so just write down whatever you think you’d want to share about your mood. If say I were to ask you about it that day. Like for example, if you notice you’re feeling better rested after sleeping in, if the cloud has gotten lighter or darker as the days go by. There’s no need to overthink it, alright?”

“Sure, I can do that.”

The Dr. smiled at him. “I’m scheduling you in for tomorrow, around the same time as today, jut for a quick check up. But if you feel it’s urgent we talk or if you start to feel worse or notice any of your triggers, please don’t hesitate to call me right away.”

“I will.” Ian ensured. 

“Okay. Now please go talk to your supervisor and clock out early - you’re only what, an hour or two away from the end of your shift, right?”

Ian checked the time, “Yeah, less than two, they won’t mind.”

“Good. We’ll talk again tomorrow, then. Take care of yourself, Ian.”

“I will. Thank you, Dr.” he nodded his goodbye and pocketed the phone, taking a minute to gather himself before going to find Carlie. 

** 

The rest of Ian’s Friday was uneventful, a haze of sorrow still looming over him. 

He’d texted Lip asking if he could pick up dinner from this small Southern comfort food restaurant they loved, on the other side of town, hoping the rare treat would help.

His brother, being the genius he was, immediately picked up on the fact that this was one of Ian’s tactics for when he desperately needed to brighten his mood. So instead of bitching about the trek and all the traffic he’d face, Lip got out early from the shop and brought Ian an extra serving of the Mac n’ Cheese he liked. 

He even managed to wait until after dinner - when they were both lounging on the couch, stomachs too full to do anything but be - to ask Ian if everything was okay. 

“You good, man?” he asked him with a level tone, trying to sound nonchalant.

Despite the fact that needing to rely on Lip whenever he was going through something always made him feel like an invalid, Ian knew it was infinitely better than letting himself get lost and carried away by this disease. He’d done that enough to last a lifetime. So he’d promised himself no matter how uncomfortable it made him, he’d be honest with the people in his life, with his support system.

“I’m not bad.” Ian said, looking up at the ceiling as he focused on his breathing, trying his best to hone in on the pleasant feeling of being well fed. “Today was just another extremely shitty day at work, we lost one of my favorite patients.” 

He paused for a bit before continuing, his throat slightly burning from having said the words out loud to someone other than his psychiatrist. 

“Hit me harder than it should, I guess. But don’t worry, I’m not slipping into an episode or anything really serious,” Ian turned his head to look at Lip, still resting it on the cushion behind him,“I spoke to my Dr., and she recommended taking some days off. You can keep an eye on the things we’ve talked about, but we both think I just need to rest. Feel what I feel and just recoup. I’ll be fine.”

Lip just nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation, deciding not to push Ian further. _Thank Fuck._

And for the remainder of their night, the brothers chilled together on the couch, until finally 9:30pm came and Ian allowed himself to give into the lethargy.. 

**

The next morning, when his alarm rang at 7 like it always did, Ian got up to find Lip had already left out a banana berry smoothie for him to take with his meds.

He took his usual dose of pills, drank his shake and eventually fell back asleep. Waking back up at 11am feeling slightly more refreshed than he’d had the last few days. It wasn’t much, and it didn’t mean he had enough energy to do much, but it was a step in the right direction.

So Ian went about his day focusing on doing what made him feel good. 

He forced himself out of bed, took a bath, ate the loaded chicken wrap Lip had bought them for lunch. He texted Thalita so he could check up on her, and sat out on his fire escape for a long while, soaking up the late afternoon sun. 

And at 8:30 that night, after he’d washed the dishes from the dinner Lip made - because the man was relentless in his need to feed him regardless of what Ian had to say about it - he answered Mickey's [call](https://64.media.tumblr.com/809102dd5f06fd72948b1eaf21653c90/de71aaeff2c9a074-d8/s1280x1920/2cf80a3d92c7f78f8848c2b9e613317f736f91a9.jpg) as soon as it came in. 

_''This call is subject to monitoring and recording."_

“Hey Mick,” Ian greeted the man as he turned to his side, snuggling in under a mountain of blankets, his a.c on full blast. 

“Switching it up on me, Gallagher?”

“Figured I’ll add it to my repertoire.”

“Corny bastard..” Mickey scoffed lightly, “have you finished the book?”

“Not yet,” Ian told him, trying not to let the pang of pain he felt bleed into his own voice. “Couldn't really pick it up this week.” 

Truth be told he hadn’t even thought about it, never imagining this shared past time with Mickey would turn so sour suddenly. 

Earl had given him the book with the promise it’d teach him a thing or two about horror, that he couldn’t call himself a real Stephen King fan if he hadn’t read it. 

“Can’t believe your pussy ass picked it. Shit’s creepy as fuck.” Mickey’s words broke through his musings, and he almost laughed out loud at the mental image of this hard ass Milkovich being scared by what he read in a book. 

“The way he described the wendigo had me fucked up.” Ian admitted. 

“Knew it.”

Ian rolled onto his back and scooted up a bit, resting on the two pillows he always kept in bed. “How was your week?”

“Bullshit. My cellmate’s a prissy bitch.” the other man told him, sounding incredibly annoyed. “Tried to pick a fight over fucking nail clipings, like we’re in some sort of fucked up spa and not prison. Can’t wait to be free of this fucking place.”

“Do you know your release date yet?”

“Yeah, October 2nd.”

His mind briefly wondered back to the exchange they’d had in his dream, of Mick telling him he’d gotten an early release somehow. He wished that part of the dream could have come true. 

“Just over a month then.”

“39 days. Thank fuck.” 

The familiar expression made him smile, and without intending to, he let the conversation fizzle out for a bit. 

“Did I wake you up?” Mickey asked, breaking their silence. He sounded almost meek, as if he felt awkward. 

“No. Not all.” Ian was quick to assure the other man,“Do I sound that bad?”

“Nah, you just sound actually normal. Usually you’re like what I imagine a golden retriever would sound like if they talked.”

The unexpected comment made Ian laugh for what felt like the first time in days. 

“Fuck you.” he jokingly snipped at the other man and after a beat he added, “I had a really shitty week. Took a toll on me, I guess.”

“You don’t gotta explain man, forget I said anything.”

“No, it’s fine, I like being honest with you, remember? It’s just that we lost a couple patients this week. And I mean it comes with the job, but it’s pretty hard sometimes, you know? Taking care of the same people every day, chances are you’ll get attached.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, man.”

Mickey sounded so earnest, tone soft in a way he hadn’t heard before, that it made Ian feel an ache in his chest. The type you get when you just want to hold onto someone you know you can’t. When you start to care so much that it hurts. 

“I’m glad you called, Mick. I can get lost in my head sometimes, and it’s usually not a great place to be.”

“I know what you mean.” Mickey said, and Ian was sure he did. 

They might not deal with the same demons, but Mickey had his own, and while he knew one’s pain wouldn’t heal the other’s, he also couldn’t deny the fact that talking to Mickey - knowing he could relate to him in a way very few of the friends he’d made throughout his life could, that none of his other past boyfriends had - provided him with a comfort he hadn’t let himself crave. 

“Alright, come on, tell me something funny or interesting. Distract me, Milkovich.” 

“Uh okay.” said the other man, falling silent for a bit as he thought up what to say next. ”Remember that guard I told you about? The one who liked catfish?”

“Yea..” he responded, shifting the phone over to his other ear,

“Turns out I was right. Word on the street is that his chick turned out to be a ring of scammers from Alabama.”

“Oh shit, really?”

“Yep. Got picked up for fake checks and shit. Apparently the dumbass had been sending the chick money for years. Got notified it was all a scam by the police.”

Ian wished they could be on facetime somehow. He’d pay to see the amused expression he imagined went along with the smug tone of Mickey’s voice, as told his story. 

“Wow..” he chuckled softly, “how do you know all this?”

“Guards are fucking gossips, man. Plus, a buddy of mine is screwing one of them, tells the dude everything.”

Ian shuddered at the thought, remembering all the guards he’d had the displeasure of dealing with. _Pit bull looking motherfuckers._

“Sounds like hell. All the guards in Marion were fucking dog-faced.”

“They all are, man.” Mickey agreed, sounding equally as disgusted. “Couldn’t be me, that’s for fucking sure.”

Despite being grateful for the interesting if unexpected route their conversation had taken, Ian suddenly had the good sense to remember the little recording that played in the beginning of every call.

“Shit, wait Mick, can you get in trouble for talking about this? They say they can be monitoring our calls.”

“Nah, that’s just for people they’re trying to bust for some shit. We’re good.”

“if you say so..”

Mickey laughed, and Ian wished he could bottle the sound. _Emotional dumbass.”_

“Fucking boy scout, don’t know how ur ginger ass survived a week in here.” Mickey teased, though his tone was still soft.  
.  
“I actually dyed my hair black before I went in.” Ian confessed and was immediately rewarded with another laugh. 

“You’re fucking shitting me? Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he adimted, “got advice from some of the shitbags around the neighborhood. Told me to camouflage.”

“You asked around for advice?” Mickey barked out through a laugh, “Jesus Christ, Gallagher.”

“Cut me some fucking slack, I was the first one in my family to actually do hard time.”

“So you needed a fucking instruction manual? And going brunette was on there?” the man was still laughing at him and Ian hoped he wouldn’t stop.

“Fuck off. It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

When he felt that his foot had fallen asleep, a usual side effect from the pills, Ian pushed the covers off his body and sat on the edge of his bed, banging his foot on the floor 

“Did it work? You ever get jumped?” Mickey asked him.

“Got into a fight my first month in, at the gym. Some asshole claimed I was hogging the bench. Fucking bullshit.”

It’d actually been one of the most tense moments of Ian’s life. 

A wired looking prisoner had accosted him out of nowhere, and for a second Ian genuinely had no idea what was happening. But once the shoving started and he realized he needed to react, Ian pushed the growing panic aside and squared up. 

In the end, a busted lip and fucked up knuckles proved worth it. He never really had any trouble with anyone again.

“You win? “

“Didn’t mess with me after that. I told you I can hold my own.”

“Yea okay, tough guy” Mickey said, still sounding very amused. 

**BEEP BEEP**

“And there’s my cue..” 

_All good things come to an end…_

“Thanks for calling, Mick.” Ian told him sincerely, affectionately.

_Thanks for talking to me, for being my friend, for existing._

‘Talk to you later, man.” Mickey said, matching his tone.

“Bye.” 

Ian hung up feeling so immensely grateful for the other man, for their conversation, for their friendship. 

It hadn’t cured him, hadn’t gotten rid of the cloud he still felt looming over him like a silent threat, but of all the things he’d done that day - of all the ways he’d tried to make himself felt better - that phone call had been what had helped the most. 

And over the next few days, Ian gradually woke up feeling less tired and more himself. 

Until eventually, he was past the hurdle. 

**

On Thursday, taking advantage of the fact that his energy was back to normal, Ian spent his last day off that week running for hours, stopping by all of his favorite spots in the city. 

At around 4pm, he slumped into an empty bench facing the harbor and felt the late August wind blow over the river, cooling his sweaty, overheated skin. 

Rolling the kinks out of his neck, stretching out the muscles on his back and arms that were aching from the all exertion, Ian let his body feel the refreshing breeze, the serotonin already flooding his organism. 

Running had always been something Ian loved, something he’d been good at, that had proved good for him and his mental health. 

He loved to feel the burn in his lungs, the pain on the soles of his feet. It reminded Ian of his childhood, of when he and Fiona would race each other, spending hours at the track. Reminded him of ROTC when ran with a sense of purpose, with something to prove. 

It reminded him was alive and free. 

Ian hoped Mickey could find something that brought him that same feeling, something that could ground him while still serving as a release. 

Lost in thought, he almost jumped out of his skin when Siri announced that Fiona was [calling](https://64.media.tumblr.com/27384c96f1371336307ca23ab3c6cd5a/85f57ab6e87262d5-88/s1280x1920/d923c01650e8edcbd45c9e26cb0d4c23aa5060db.jpg). He pressed the airbud and answered, 

“Hey Fi.”

“Carl got arrested. Sorry to bother you, Ian, but can you meet me down at the station on Bradley?” Fiona told him, talking a mile a minute. “I’m gonna call that lawyer we used the last time, Leilah Cardoso, she was good, I hope she’s free..”

She was already strategizing while Ian was still trying to understand what the fuck happened. _Typical._

“Wait Fiona, go back to the beginning. What did Carl do this time?” 

“I have no idea.” FIona said, sounding stressed out of her mind. “They wouldn't tell me anything.”

 _Fucking Carl, oh my fucking.._

“So can you go?” she pleaded. 

“Of course. I’ll head over there now.” Ian assured her, already getting up so he could run to the closest L station.

“Okay, thanks Ian.” 

**

Carl had been looking for trouble from the moment he could walk. 

He’d bite kids in the playground, he threw rocks at the alley cats. He broke whatever he could get his hands on. 

And as he grew up, it didn’t really get any better. He started running with the worst kind of kids, the ones who thought that getting in real trouble was a badge of honor, something to aim for. 

By the time he reached 16, he’d already spent a good part of his adolescence in juvie, having been picked for possession, vandalism, disorderly conduct... 

“He’s an idiot and he fucking deserves this wake up call.” Lip said, grabbing his smokes from his back pocket, and sitting on the frame of the big window in their living room so he could smoke in peace. 

“You on a mission to smoke the whole pack today?”

The irony of him being the one “nagging” Lip was not lost on either of them.

“Shut up, man.” Lip blew him off, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I just hope he realizes how lucky he is to have the chance of making a deal. Fiona will fucking loose it if shit goes south. 

“Yeah, I know. I wish there was more we could do to help her.” 

He hated seeing his sister freak out, but they’d done everything they could realistically do. Now it was just a waiting game. 

Throwing himself on the couch, Ian got out his phone and opened up his contact list. They hadn’t eaten all day and Ian felt like his stomach was planing revenge, of the growls were anything to go by. 

“Gonna get us some pizza, what’re you in the mood for?” 

“Fuck, just get us one with everything. I’m starvin.”

**

The pizza arrived at just the right time and Ian had just about gotten as many slices as he could fit on his plate when his phone [rang](https://64.media.tumblr.com/809102dd5f06fd72948b1eaf21653c90/de71aaeff2c9a074-d8/s1280x1920/2cf80a3d92c7f78f8848c2b9e613317f736f91a9.jpg). 

WIthout much fanfare, Ian retreated to his room, plate in hand, and waited for the line to connect through.

 _''This call is subject to monitoring and recording."_

“Hi Mickey, guess what I’m eating?”

“Fuck you, what?” 

“Guiseppe’s” he said around a bite. 

Mickey scoffed, “You can keep it.”

“I can’t wait for you to see how wrong you’ve been.” he teased after taking a drink from his Dr. Pepper can. “Fuck, I forgot the ketchup.” 

Ian got up, putting his soda on the floor and pizza down on the bed..

“You put ketchup on your deep dish?” Mickey literally gagged, sounding absolutely disgusted.

“Nah, no deep dish tonight,” he laughed, “got an everything.”

“You can just ask for extra sauce, idiot.” 

Ian grabbed the ketchup from the fridge, closing the door with his hip. “The fuck do you have against condiments?”

“I got no-” Mickey started saying, getting cut off by Lip. 

“Yo, can you grab me another slice?” his brother called out from his room. 

“Yea, sure.” Ian yelled back, turning his phone slightly away from his face so that Mickey wouldn’t get an earful. “Sorry that was-”

“You’re busy, imma go-” Mickey said, voice harder than it had been only seconds ago.

“No! Don’t.” Ian rushed to say, “That was just my brother who’s too lazy to get off his ass. Don’t hang up.”

Mickey was quiet for a while. “Figured it was your boyfriend or somethin’” he sniffed. Ian thought he sounded embarrassed.

“No boyfriend. I live with Lip. Got our own place when I got my job.” 

“Oh.” 

They were both quiet for a while. In the meantime, Ian dropped off Lip’s pizza and got back to his room. 

“Are you, uh, moving back to your old house when you get out?”

“Fuck no.” Mickey stated, his tone already back to it’s normal timber. “Place got taken after Terry died. No one to pay the taxes and shit.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ian said as he sat back down on his bed.

“Don’t be, was a piece of shit just like him. Gonna crash with my brother and cousin, try to figure my shit out.”

“If you ever need help..”

Ian had genuinely meant it, and by now he knew Mickey was well aware of that.

“Thanks, Superman.” the man said in his usual sarcasm, though Ian could pick up on the fondness in his tone. 

“Not a hero thing, Mick.” he told him, taking a sip of his drink.”I’m teaching you that friends help friends, remember?” 

“Whatever.” 

After a beat, as Ian chewed on his food, Mickey added, “You, uh, sound better..”

The observation brought a dopey smile to his face.

“I feel better. But I can get really down sometimes, especially when I’m under a lot stress.”

“I get it, man. That’s some heavy shit you deal with at work.”

Ian nodded as if mickey could see him. 

“Yeah, but it’s rewarding, too. Get to help people every day. Didn’t think I’d have that after prison, what with being a crazy felon and all.” he took another sip. ”What were the chances a hospital would want to hire me.”

“Fuck that, man. Not like you killed anyone.” Mickey told him, simply “You have experience, took classes and shit. That’s what fucking matters.” .

He sounded so sure of what he was saying - like he genuinely didn’t see how a potential employer could find fault with Ian’s track record. It made Ian want to kiss him.

_Idiot! Stop it!_

“Arson’s pretty bad, Mick.” he said instead, probably sounding as enamored as he felt. 

“So you like a little fire, everyone has a kink.”

Ian couldn’t hold back his laughter, “You do understand I’m not a pyromaniac, right?”

“Psh. Can’t trust the word of a crazy felon.”

“Fuck you.” he told the other man, still laughing. 

“Wanna hear the latest news in the Gallagher crime unit? My little brother got arrested again. Trying to follow in my footsteps, apparently.”

“He blow a van up, too?” Mickey teased.

“Nah, I mean prison.” Ian was so exhausted by this fucked up situation he was on the verge of inappropriate laughter. “He just turned 16 but they’re talking about trying him as an adult.” 

“Shit. What’d he do?” Mickey asked, all the humor in tone replaced with concern.

“Got picked up for truancy, but turns out he was carrying a gun. Fucking bullshit. He’s been in and out of juvie for a couple years now. Thinks he’s some typa gangster.”

Mickey sighed, “Fuck.”

“Yea. I just feel bad for my sister, really. She’s always tried so hard with him. I mean he’s always been a little tough but she tried. Still tries…”

Finished with his food, Ian got up to throw the trash away. 

“Think I remember him.” Mickey said, surprising Ian. “I knew there was a mini psychopath in your family.”

Again he felt the inappropriate urge to laugh, “That’s probably him. If you put it like that, I guess we’re lucky he’s not worse.”

‘Let me know what happens. But don’t worry, I‘ll put in a good word for him when he eventually ends up here, you know, since we’re friends.” 

“Aww, thanks.” Ian said as he rolled his eyes, incredibly fond of the other man’s dry sense of humor. “But yeah, he’s got a great lawyer and the gun wasn’t loaded, so hopefully he’ll just take a deal. Spend a year or two in juvie. Get out when he’s 18, at least.”

“He’s not a ginger is he? Have you told him he’s gonna have to dye his hair one day?.” Mickey teased.

“Ughh.” Ian sighed dramatically, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge to take back to his room.“Shouldnt have fucking told you that.”

*Mickey just laughed, “But you did.”

“How’s your cellmate? Still on your nerves? 

“Nah, but he’s still a goddamn moron.” 

Ian swore he could hear the man's eyes rolling.

“Got played by one of the old sacks in the infirmary, who begged the dumbass to stab him so he could get a stay-catiion. Apparently he was sick of his cellmate, too.” 

“Oh shit.”

“It gets dumber.” Mickey animatedly continued, “So dick for brains managed to get caught with the shiv stil in.hand. Got his ass thrown in solitary for two days. Best two days of my fucking year.”

“Fuck.. Poor guy.” he said.

“Don’t feel sorry for him, coulda been way worse. They took pity on the idiot cause the old man’s done this bit before.”

Ian had heard about shit like that happening before, though never to that scale.

“Had some guys back in Marion that liked going to infirmary, too. Said it was a nice break cause they got to just lay around for a bit. But as far as I know they didn’t scheme for it to happen.”

“Clowns.” 

**BEEP BEEP**

“Gotta go.” Mickey noted sadly. 

“Talk to you later, Mick.”  
.  
“Bye Ian.”

The thrill he got hearing Mickey say his name was unreal, and as he got ready for bed that night, Ian tried to not to focus on the fact that he knew this wasn’t going to be just ome dumb throw away crush for him. 

He was falling for Mickey Milkovich. 

_He was so tremendously screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Did anyone note that when Ian was down, Mickey ended their phone call using usual send off, and that of course Ian picked up on it and mirrored him? 
> 
> It meant a whole lot to Ian, and it’s definitely telling of how Mickey picks up on every little thing Ian does 🤭🤗
> 
> * * *
> 
> This half was a little darker than the first part, and maybe less exciting lol, but I really wanted to showcase the boys growing through different emotions together. 
> 
> To me Gallavich is so incredibly special essentially _because_ at its core it’s the story of two people who love each other so completely - they’re friends, they’re family, they’re confidants, they’re each other’s support system. 
> 
> Ian and Mickey, both in canon and in this fic, make each other better.  
> Sometimes it’s through big actions, but other times it’s just by being there for one another. By listening and being supportive, making them laugh, believing in the other person’s potential, even when they can’t. ❤️
> 
> And that was a theme I really wanted to highlight with this chapter (p1&p2).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves, happy Valentine’s Day!  
> So excited I get to update today considering this fic is pretty much the only source of ‘romance’ I have in my life right now, lol.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the love and support. Writing this fic wouldn’t be as mengliful if it weren’t for all of you. I hope you know how much your comment lights up my day. 
> 
> Can't wait to hear what you all think of this chapter.  
> So much love! Xx

“Hi Mickey!” Ian sang out, happily awaiting the other man’s typical complaints of his happy go lucky attitude.

To Ian, Mickey’s almost comedic level of grumpiness was just about one of his most endearing qualities. As far as the redhead was concerned, it just further proved how well fit they were as a duo, a fucked up yin and yang.. 

As expected, the long suffering sigh that came from the other end of the line made his heart constrict. 

Saturday nights were now pure fucking bliss. 

“You won’t believe the fucking week I’ve had..” Mickey grumbled, sounding surlier than usual. Ian wasn’t so elated anymore. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked quickly, already jumping to the worst conclusions. 

_Mickey himself had said some guys in his block liked to fuck things up for those with relase dates coming up, and Mickey had less than a month to go now._

Ian has been out on his fire escape enjoying the early September weather, the nice contrast of the night breeze cooling him down as his oversized sweater and fleece sweatpants warmed him up. Now, though, all he felt was a sudden bone deep chill..

“I’m fine,” Mickey assured him, picking up on the worry in his voice. “I’m just fucking exhausted of being in this shithole, fucking literealy! A bunch of innmates, including my cellmate - who was sent to this earth to fucking drive me insane -” he stressed that last part so Ian assumed the famous cellmate was standin by somewhere close to him, “got really bad food poisining. Fucking rivers of diahrea and throw up.”

“Oh my God..” Ian grimaced as he shuffled his way through the window, back into his room.

“Do you know fucking awful it is to be stuck in a cell the size of a fucking dog crate with a man who is constatly shitting himself? And then to have to work cleaning up a million shitty sheets and uniforms. because God forbid they just give us new stuff.” Mickey rambled on, sounding more annoyed with each word spoken.

Ian sat down on his desk chair, fiddling around with a pen as he listened to Mick’s grievances. “Damn, that sounds like hell.”

“Yeah, that's exactly what it was.” Mickey said with a sigh. He sounded miserable. Ian hated it. 

“Just 24 more days and you’ll be free.” he reminded the other man softly. “Won’t ever have to do laundry again if you don’t want to. My sister owns a couple laundromats, I’ll hook you up with free dry cleaning.”

“Uhum, sure she’ll love that.” 

‘I’ll get you the convict discount.” 

Mickey snorted, already sounding less vexed, “Is it in the Yards?”

“One of them, yeah.”

“Keep that discount up and you’ll run her out of business, Gallagher.”

Ian laughed, spinning around in his seat like kids do in the movies, when they’re on the phone talking to their crush. 

“Oh don’t worry, it’s strictly for our favorite felons.”

“What an honor.” Mickey said with a laugh. After a beat he asked, “How was your week? Brother still in the slammer?”

“Well I was gonna say it was pretty crappy but..” Ian teased, a wide grin on his face as he heard Mickey’s deadtoned, “Ha ha”

“It was ok. It’s better now.” he said truthfully, his tone light and soft. 

it scared him just how honest that statement was. How much Mickey improved his days, just by himself.

“Oh yea? Hearing about shit get you going?” the other man joked. 

“You bet.” he snorted, “Honestly, it was just about the same as last week. Carl’s lawyer got him the deal but it’s still two years. My sister’s taking it pretty hard.”

“Damn.” 

“We’re hoping it’ll be a wake up call.” Ian said as he rolled his neck. “Don’t want this to be what we’re dealing with for the rest of his life.”

“I feel ya.” Mickey noted, “I’m still shocked my fuckhead brother actually got his shit together. He and my cousin are pretty solid now, haven’t even caught a case since I’ve been in. Fucking South Side miracles.”

“And soon you’ll be a successful carpenter.” Ian told him proudly. “Gonna put me to shame, man. All the P.Os will want your face on their brochures.”

“Pretty sure they’d rather have yours.” Mickey commented like it was nothing. 

Ian could feel the flush on his face, body already overheating despite the open window. Suddenly grateful the man couldn’t see him. 

“Nah, they can’t have someone that looks like a model,” he teased, “needs to be realistic.”

Mickey let out a small laugh. ““Yeah, fuck you, Ronald Mcdonald.”

The both of them fell quiet for a bit, comfortable and content with just listening to each other breathe.

After a few minutes, Mickey let out a yawn. 

“Am I boring you?” Ian taunted, getting off his chair so he could go lay down. 

He’d spent the day helping Kevin set up a gym in Alibi’s garage, and as embarrassing as it was to admit, even to himself, the whole thing had wiped him the hell out.

“Yep. Your annoying ass voice is putting me right to sleep.” 

“I should start an asmr channel, make a pretty dime.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Mickey asked, sounding genuinely confused. 

“Never heard of asmr?”

 _Obviously he hasn’t, idiot._ , Ian thought to himself the moment the question left his mouth. 

“Is that like a sex thing?”

The man sounded so adorably confused, it made Ian chuckle softly.

“No it’s not a sex thing. I mean it can be, I guess, not actually sure. But no, it’s like a brain massage type of thing.”

“Huh?”

“Videos of people who can make specific sounds that are meant to stimulate certains parts of your brain.” he explained as best he could, “They help you relax and stuff. So like whispers, scratching, brushes..”

“That’s definitely a sex thing.” Mickey stated matter of factly, 

“It’s not. It’s like sound therapy. Totally works for some people. I watch a bunch of them when I can’t sleep.”

It was a testament to how hard he’d fallen that he was willingly telling Mickey this. Asmr was the type of guilty pleasure he didn’t talk to anyone about.

“You’re a disgrace to the South Side.” Mickey mocked him. 

“Thank you.” he said, taking the phone from his ear and putting it on speaker so he could open up the notes app.

He clicked over to the document where months he’d typed up all the questions he wanted to ask Mickey. The memory made him smile. 

“I’m adding asmr to the list of things I’m making you change your mind about in 24 days.”

“Keep dreaming.” Mickey scoffed.

“We’re watching Double Impact, eating Guiseppe’s and listening to asmr.”  
“  
Yeah, I think I’ll just stay in prison.”

While Ian laughed, he heard Mickey yawn again. 

He could picture the other man, holding the phone while he talked to him, yawning despite himself, an easy smile on his face. It made ian feel so unbelievably soft. 

Snuggling into his bed, he asked, “You weren’t kidding when you said you were exhausted, huh?” 

“Wasn’t kidding when I told you about my cellmate torturing me with his bodily fluids.” Mickey stated, sounding disgusted. 

“Why didn’t you get sick too?” 

“Cause I’m not a fucking idiot.” the man said simply. “I don’t eat pudding, especially not the shit they give us here.”

“I would’ve been one of the fallen ones. I love banana pudding.”

“Yeah well a buddy of mine let me know that it’s usually expired. They get that shit on the low and pocket the change.”

Mick said this with such naturality, as if it wasn’t one of the absurd things Ian had heard, that for a second Ian almost thought he hadn’t heard him right. 

“What the fuck?” he sputtered, automatically sitting up like a spring once the man’s words properly registered. “Why didn’t anyone say anything? That’s illegal as hell, Mickey!”

“Oh cause the government really gives a shit about what’s going on here.” Mickey replied sarcastically, “I’m in a maximum security prison, Ian. They’d kill us all if they could.”

“I don’t give a fuck where you are. That’s such bullshit.” Ian roared out.

He took a breath, running a hand down his face as he exhaled harshly. “I fucking hate this country and it’s fucked up prison system.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to play dress up and go kill people for Uncle Sam..” Mickey noted.

_Valid point._

“Yeah well I was an idiot.” he shot back sheepishly. 

“You sure were, army.”

“At least I ruined one of their helicopters.”

“Makes you a national hero in my book.” the man told him teasingly.

“All worth it, then.” 

**BEEP BEEP**

“Good night, Mick.” he told the man, voice like velvet. “ Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“Night, you fucking sap.” Mickey said before hanging up, sounding just as fond as Ian felt. 

** 

If one year ago someone told Ian Gallagher the highlight of his weekends would the phone calls he’d receive from Mickey Milkovich, he would’ve have told that person to fuck off. 

A year ago, Mickey was nothing perfect stranger, merely a blip on his radar when he looked back in time. Ian would have been fine going on with his life without ever sparing the man another thought. 

But if they told him he’d have monthly facetime dates with Mandy Milkovich, watching movies the other picked out, getting drunk and eating junk despite being thousands of miles away from one another, well, that he would have been less hesitant to dismiss.

Luckily for him, both those statements were now very much real aspects of his life. 

“That’s the last time I let you rope me into a musical.” Ian told Mandy, whose face filled up the screen of macbook sitting on the [coffee table](https://64.media.tumblr.com/462c108f779237adf351e6792e4efd82/cbd26d7e3738326e-ca/s500x750/d766267dda8bac7ecf8d09e5a58f73be82db283e.jpg) in front of him.

“Shut up. I know you liked it, you big ass softie.”

He and Mandy would each pick a movie a month and the other had to go along with it, no questions asked. He’d pick The Invisible Man, she’d picked out A Star is Born. Both had it’s merits, he guessed. 

“Whatever. At least it had Bradley Cooper. Dude’s fine as fuck.” he told his friend, downing his last sip of beer. 

He’d had a whooping two bottles and was already feeling a little high, a little tipsy. 

_23 years old and he couldn't even drink.._

“Right?! I’m convinced he’ll fall in love with me if he comes to the bakery.” Mandy said with the confidence Ian’d known her to have her entire life. 

She expertly held up her wine glass as she lay back into her own couch. “He can eat a treat and I’ll be desert.” 

Ian huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like a fool proof plan.”

“How’s your friendship with Mickey going?” Mandy asked, surprising him. 

They hadn’t really talked about her brother in a while, just casual comments here and there. It was enough for him to know the two siblings were close, but Mandy didn’t really offer much up and he didn’t dig. 

“Great.” Ian answered, hoping the beers he drank would explain the red tinge of his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he was already on the verge of full on blushing just because Mickey’s name had been mentioned.

“You know us South SIde statistics gotta stick together.”

“Uhum.. he told me you guys talk on the phone now.” Mandy said casually, taking a sip of her wine. 

He wasn’t sure what she was getting at exactly, but knowing Mandy it had to be something.

He tried playing it cool, making sure to keep his gaze fixed on the tv in front of him. “Oh really?”

“Yep. Asked him why he didn’t call last week and he let it slip. He doesn’t usually tell me anything unless I pry it out of him.” 

Mandy’s tone was still light, nonplussed, but when Ian briefly looked over to the screen, he could see Mandy’s eyebrows were furrowed, eyes squinted like she was trying to read him. 

Ian forced a shrug, still not looking directly at his friend, “Sounds like Mickey,” 

“Guess you two have that in common.” 

“Please, I’m an open book.” he quipped, reaching over to grab his laptop so he could shift positions on the couch.

He lay straight on his back and rested the MacBook on his chest, hoping the unflattering angle would keep Mandy from seeing right through him.

“Uhum..” the young woman placated, eyes still focused on him. 

Desperate to change the subject, Ian started asking his own questions. “So how’s the new guy. Never figured you’d be interested in geeky and nice.”

Mandy had told him a few months back about this guy she’d met at the bakery, Zach.

A surgical resident at the hospital near the bakery, he went in almost everyday for a cinnamon roll and some coffee. Eventually he’d managed to leave with Mandy’s number,

They’d been on a few dates since and so far all Ian knew about the man was that he was smart, cute and sweet. A very different set of adjectives than the ones Mandy usually used to describe her romantic escapades. 

“Ha ha.” Mandy feigned laughter, reaching over to the bottle sitting on her coffee table. She pour herself some more wine. “Trust me, in LA ‘nice’ is even harder to find than in Chicago.”

“See? Another reason for you to come back.” he joked, crossing his arms behind his head.  
.  
“And lose my shot with Bradley Cooper?” Mandy snorted. “I don’t think so.”

“In a new relationship and already planning your next one, that’s the Mandy Milkovich I know and love.” Ian said with a laugh. 

“You’re obnoxious.” she retorted after taking a sip. “How about we talk about your love life instead?”

“There’s none to talk about.” Ian said easily. Truth be told, he wasn’t actually lying.

It'd been months since Ian’d actually gotten laid. Most of the action he was getting these days were strictly involuntary sex dreams about the other Milkovich in his life.

It was as if once the floodgates had opened Ian’s overactive seuxal immagination literally could not be stopped. 

Everything from them being locked up together, to Mickey breaking out and the two of them running to Mexico. Ian fantasized about them in the old ballpark, where they’d once played baseball together, about them in the old Milkovich living room, in his bathtub.. 

Ian hand’t physically had sex in weeks but he woke up covered in his own cum at least 4 times a week. 

It wasn’t like he was actively spurring on these dreams. He never consciously jerked off to Mickey. He knew there were boundaries. He respected them.

 _He justcould‘t blamed for what his sick, unconscious brain came up with._ That’s what he’d tell himself, at least. It was either that or die from shame.

“No one’s caught your eye?” Mandy fished, back to squinting at him. 

Ian swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. 

_Yeah, now that you mention it your brother has._

_Pretty sure my brain has fucked me up to the point of being completely uninterested in anyone except your brother._

“Nope.” Ian told her instead, turning his head to face up at the ceiling. “No geeky, nice guys here.” 

“Uhum..” Many humored him and Ian wished he could be less of a walking cliche. The gay best friend who falls for the best friend’s straight brother. How unoriginal.“How long has it been since you’ve gotten laid?”

“Not too long.” he said non committedly, eyes focused on the paint chip right above his head. “I’ve been busy.”

_Busy dreaming of fucking your brother in every position known to man._

_Busy falling in love with your brother, actually._

“Suree..” 

Ian hated when Mandy drew out her answers like that, hated that he did the same thing when he knew someone was purposefully bullshitting him, and doing a crap job at it.

When he turned back to look at his friend, she was still staring at him, a smirk now plastered on her pretty, smug face.

“Did I tell you Karen Jackson got run over?” Ian asked in a vain attempt to once more change the subject.

When they were teenagers, Mandy had gone through the stereotypical drama of falling in love with the cute asshole who was too self absorbed to notice her. 

And because both she and Ian were a match made in cliche hell, that cute asshole had been Lip. 

Unfortunately ( _or maybe fortunately)_ for Mandy, teenage Lip had been fully obsessed with the mini sociopath he was dating. Too involved in her particular brand of crazy to pay any mind to the young Milkovich always drooling over him. 

So thanks to one Karen Jackson, Lip and Mandy’s love affair - which was destined to end in disaster, no doubt - never actually happened. It was safe to say Mandy didn’t take it well..

“Oh my God, that's amazing.” the young woman sang out, her tipsy laughter filling up the room. “Spill! Tell me everything!”

The rest of their night consisted of Ian and Mandy laughing at Karen’s expense ( _God forgive them_ ), each heating up the rest of their respective pizza rolls and bagel bites - an important part of their movie night tradition - and swapping any gossip they had on other fellow classmates. 

In that space in time, it was like they were still 15. 

Ian wouldn’t have it any other way. 

**  
“I’m back!” Ian shouted after walking through the door of his old house. 

Groceries in hand, he made his over directly to the kitchen. 

“They were out of the Sharp Cheddar you like but I got these instead.” 

“That’s fine, thanks hun.” Fiona noted as her brother took the food out of the bags.

Sticking to routine, Ian was spending another weekend with his family. 

Only this time he'd managed to convince FIona to take a break, go out and have some actual fun for once. They’d settled on all of them eating an early dinner together and after that her, Debbie and Vee were making the best of their night while he babysat the kids.

As Fiona put the finishing touches on her lasagna, Ian started cutting up the vegetables for their salad.

“I talked to Carl while you were at the store,” Fiona told him, “said he can start getting visitors next week. You wanna tag along with me and Debs? Vee can keep the kids.”

“Sure,” he agreed easily, “I’ll drive.”

Once the food was just about done, Fiona called Vee and she and her daughters came over. 

“Hey cutie,” Vee greeted Ian with a kiss on the cheek as she walked into the kitchen, “explain to me why you’re free on a Saturday night?”

“Not every weekend has to consist of wild nights out, Vee.” he said softly. 

“You’ll regret saying that when you’re older and a hangover lasts 3 full days.” she told him, instructing her daughters to sit down beside her. 

“Mine already do.” he laughed, taking a seat at the table next to his little brother. 

It wasn’t like Ian never went out. He sometimes would get drinks with his younger co workers or even hit up some clubs in boystown with the friends he’d made during his time at the shelter. 

Ian had always liked to dance, liked the attention he got from the random cute guys, and the company was usually pretty fun.

But even though he was only 23, the whole anonymous club scene wasn’t really something he craved every weekend. He tagged along when he was feeling up for it and stuck to chilling at home when he wasn’t. It just so happened that most times, he wasn’t.

Whatever, it worked for him.

“I’m trying to hook him up with that accountant I told you about,” Fiona said to Debbie as she brought over the drinks.“You know the one who gets his suits dry cleaned at Turman Hill?” 

Debbie nodded, cutting up a piece of the lasagna for her daughter. “He’s cute, Ian! You should definitely invest.”

Ian rolled his eyes, exasperated by the fact that this week suddenly everyone taken an interest in his personal life. 

It’d started with Mandy on Wednesday, followed by the pharmacist at his drug store slipping him his number, then a very persistent patient trying to set him up with her grandson and now Fiona nagging him about texting a random ass accountant.

As if single, ‘attractive’ and gay checked all his bozes. Like it was that simple.

“I told you I don’t need you guys setting me up with strangers.” he told his sisters, who very clearly did not care about his opinions on the matter “Besides, I’m not looking for a guy right now.”

“Why not?” Debbie fixed him a confused look. “It’s been forever since you dated Tyler.”. 

“His name’s Trevor.” he corrected, taking an annoyed bite of his food.

“Same difference.” the young woman said, waving her fork around. “You and Lip are depressing.”

“Don’t listen to her, Ian.” his big sister intervened, looking over at him with a soft expression. “But if you do change your mind, Craig seems like a really great guy. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a call.”

“Or just enjoy your freedom, fuck around!” Vee suggested with a shrug, ignoring her own plate to make sure her girls were eating what was on theirs. “Trust me, 10 years from now you’ll wish you had.”

“That’s true too.” Fiona agreed. “Just don’t be scared to put yourself out there. You never know what’s waiting if you take the chance.”

Ian smiled at his sister, letting her words hang in the air. 

**

Long after they’d eaten, and the women had made their way out the door, Ian felt the familiar buzzing in the pocket of his jeans. 

“I surrender, you guys. Everyone back in the house!” he called out to the kids before answering his [phone](https://64.media.tumblr.com/809102dd5f06fd72948b1eaf21653c90/de71aaeff2c9a074-d8/s1280x1920/2cf80a3d92c7f78f8848c2b9e613317f736f91a9.jpg).

Shouts of ‘victory’ and ‘woohoos’ filled the backyard as the usual message ended and Mickey’s line connected. 

“Hi Mick!” 

“Hey. You busy?” Mickey asked him, no doubt hearing the kids still yelling in the background. 

“Nah. I was just chasing my niece and her little friends around. Kevin and Vee’s kids. They like to play cops and robbers.”

Mickey scoffed, “Are they the pigs or the good guys?” he asked smugly.

“The good guys.” Ian chuckled softly, making his way up the porch steps. “We’re teaching them young around here.”

“That’s 10/10 parenting, Gallagher.” Mickey laughed along. 

“Sleep better this week?” he asked the other man. 

“Sorta, kinda feels like the days are longer or some shit.” 

“Oh I know what you mean, same thing happened to me when I was getting close to my release date. Just felt like the month was never ending. But then the last week was whirlwind.”

“Yea, guess we’ll see. Mickey told him and then paused for a bit. “Just talked to Mandy..”

A chill ran up Ian’s spine at the man’s words, unsure if this meant something or not. 

“Oh?” 

“Told me your ass was talkin’ ‘bout her coming back to Chicago. Find herself a nice guy here.”

He let out a breath of relief, happy to hear the humor in the man’s voice. “She’s done it before,” he said playfully, “I was a great boyfriend.”

“Thought your ass gay?” 

“Not my ass, but yeah, Mandy was sort of like my beard.” Ian ushered the kids inside the kitchen. “Still the healthiest relationship on the South SIde, though.”

“Psh…” Mickey said dismissively. “You were just less annoying than the other guys she’d had around. Never had to kick you out of her bed. Shoulda known something was up..”

“I was pretty careful.” Ian assured him, a smile on his lips as he thought back to the teenaged Mickey he used to see around the streets, always the small leader of his own little gang. “Wasn’t really looking to get myself killed.”

“So what, you never fucked anyone from the neighborhood back then?” Mickey asked, catching him off guard.

“I mean there were plenty of guys in the closet. Had sex with Roger Spikey a few times.”

“No shit..” Mickey laughed out. 

“But I.. um..sort of had a boyfriend while I was with Mandy.” he told Mickey, surprising even himself. “At least that’s what I thought he was, at the time.”

“Oh..” the man said sort of uncomfortably. 

Normally, Ian would’ve stopped talking. _He probably should stop talking._ But instead of clamming up, he continued. 

“You remember Kash Karib? The owner of the Kash&Grab?” he asked nervously, leaning on the back door of the Gallagher house as he waited for Mickey to piece together what he was saying..

“Don’t tell me..”

“For a pretty long time.” ian admitted. “Thought I was in love. Couldn’t see it for what it was, then.”

Ian had no idea why he was telling Mickey any of this.

HE wasn’t really used to talking to anyone about his history involving Ned or Kash. He and Dr. Bradshaw had dedicated quite a few sessions to the topic and since then it felt less heavy when he thought about it, less shameful, somehow. 

Still, Mickey wasn’t exactly forthcoming with much of anything, which was fine with Ian. Because even though he didn't know a lot about the other man, their conversations always left Ian with a sense of natural intimacy. 

It made Ian feel he could trust him,, like he talk to him. About everything. About his favorite books, about his job, his family. About stuff he never realized he wanted to share. 

“That fucking pervert.” Mickey bit out harshly, and despite the anger in the man’s voice, it was as if the tension Ian felt eased a little. Mickey wasn’t angry at him, he wasn’t disgusted by him.

“Is that fucker still in town?”

“No. He ran off after his wife Linda caught us.” Ian answered, gesturing to the kids to go wash their hands. “Didn’t say goodbye or anything.”

“Lucky motherfucker,” Mickey said, and just when Ian thought maybe that was the last thing the man was going to say on the topic, he added, sounding completely serious, “I’d fucking kill him.”

“One conviction for attempted murder is enough, don’t you think?” Ian tried for humor, uncomfortable at the surge of warmth and _want_ he felt upon hearing the other man’s words.

Clearly, Ian was crazy. You had to be crazy to fawn over someone’s homicidal tendencies, right? Whatever, not like him being crazy was news to him or anything.. 

“Yeah well you know what they say, second time’s the charm.” Mickey mirrored his tone.

“That piece of shit is definitely not worth it. Pretty sure I was the only head case dumb enough to fall for his shit.”

It was the type of statement one tells themselves so they can go on living without being buried by the guilt of staying silent. 

Ian had no way of knowing if it was a lie or not, but as he stood there in his childhood home, watching his little brother help his niece reach the kitchen sink, he sent a silent prayer to whatever Gods were listening, that it could be true. 

“That’s one too many,” Mickey told him gruffly, “and you’re not the fucking head case in this scenario, Ian. He’s the sick prick. You know what they do to sickos like him in here?”

Ian shuddered at the implications of the words. “Well for all we know he’s locked up somewhere.”

“Fucking hope so.” Mickey spat out, “What did his wife do when she caught you?”

“Kicked him out, I guess.” Ian answered honestly. “I ran after she came in, tried to lay low for a couple of days. Thought he’d call me or something, let me know what was going on, but he never did. When I finally went back she told me he was gone. Never heard from him again.”

“Good.” Mickey said simply. 

“Yea. Kinda the reason I ran off to the army.” Ian admitted, nodding to the kids when they ask if they can eat fruit snacks. “I had a lot going on already and him leaving just pushed me over the edge. Couldn’t stay here anymore so I stole Lip’s ID and left.”

“So that piece of shit’s the reason you almost got stuck in military prison.” the man stated, still sounding livid. 

“Not the main reason but yeah..” he confirmed. 

“Yeah that motherfucker deserves death.” 

“Flattered to know you’d kill for me, Mick.” Ian joked, a smile on his lips despite the heavy topic matter, a true sentiment to how fucked up he was. “And to think that at the beginning of this you wouldn't even share your contacts, I’ve taught you so much.”.

Ian knew Mickey cared about him, that much had been obvious for a while. Itt made sense, friends gave a shit about each other.

But the way the man reacted to the story, the way he’d not once judged Ian, well it meant something. 

Actually, it meant everything. 

“Jesus..” Mickey groaned dramatically, “forget the jello, Ian.”

And just like that, they were back to their dumb banter. Back to making each other laugh. 

Ian loved how easy it was between them. 

_How easy it was to fall in love with him._

“I want the Centre to serve them!” he told Mickey with a soft chuckle “The stuff they have there’s just sad. My patients deserve better.”

“Bullshit. This is a con.” Mickey accused him full of fake indignation.

“Have some civic duty!” 

“Uhum..” the man answered back, sounding so much like Mandy it made Ian grin all the more. 

They were both quiet for a minute as Ian cleaned up after the kids - putting the snack box back in the cupboard and moving the stepping stool out of the away. Once he finished, he joined the mini hellions in the living room, where they lay, spread out on the floor, arguing over what cartoon to watch. 

Sitting down on the recliner, Ian took a steady breath, trying to find the courage for what he’d thought about doing since earlier in the afternoon.

“So, uh, I know we never talked about this but I’m driving up to visit Carl next Saturday.” he said tentatively, dragging his free hand up and down the armrest. “The state facility they have him in is in the same complex as yours. Thought I could stop by if I get out early?”

Ian could swear he stopped breathing while he waited for Mickey to respond, feeling his heart beat out of his cheat.

This was a big leap, he knew that. It was one thing for them to make plans after Mickey was out, it another to visit the man while he was still locked up. 

Ian wouldn’t even be upset if Mickey wasn’t down for it, honestly. He sort of hated the first few times his had family visited him, hated the pitying looks they gave him, the stunted conversations.

But Mickey wasn’t looking at a year inside anymore. In a little over a week he’d be out in the world too, and besides, Ian wasn’t the type to make Mickey feel self conscious about his current situation. They both knew that was precisely one of the very reasons they’d gotten along so well in the first place. 

So why not? Why the hell not?

“Oh, um.. yeah. Okay. I’ll put your name down.” 

It should be stated that Ian would’ve been fine if Mickey said no. But he hadn’t. He’d said yes and the redhead felt like his skin was on fire - the type that warmed his entire being, that still kept his heart racing but for best reasons. 

He could hear the nerves in the other man’s voice, and it just made him all that much happier. Ian loved the fact that Mickey was nervous too, but that he’s said fuck it, he wanted to see him. He wanted to see Ian.

It didn’t mean he felt the same as Ian did - didn’t mean he smiled whenever he thought about the other man, that he dreamt about his voice, about his eyes. Ian knew that. Knew he probably didn’t invoke the same feelings in the other man - that he didn’t have Mickey’s stomach tied up in knots when he heard him laughing, that he didn’t send fire down Mickey’s veins when he said his name. 

No, Mickey probably didn’t feel the same, but he still wanted Ian around. Still wanted Ian there, in person, as a friend. That was enough. That was enough. That was more than enough. 

“Okay.“ 

**BEEP BEEP**

‘I’ll see you later.” Ian told him, promised him.

“See ya, Gallagher.” Mickey promised back.

**

The following week Ian went about his days silently buzzing in excitement. With his head in the clouds, he got through his routine with little fanfare, mind always jumping to what Saturday had in store for him. 

It wasn’t like this was a date, Ian got that. But his rational understanding of the situation did very little to calm his nerves.

Fact was, he couldn't remember the last time he’d been this excited to see someone. 

Like a character straight out of a coming of age movie, Ian spent hours going over what’d it be like - what he should wear, how he should style his hair, what cologne to put on. He knew he was borderline pathetic and yet it was the happiest he’d been in months. 

But as excited as he was, he still couldn’t shut up the voice in the back of his head that told him everything was going to blow up in his face, like it always did, it was just a matter of time. And as he got closer to Saturday, the voice only grew louder. 

“I ever told you that you wear the same cologne as one of my exes?” Thalita promptly asked Ian when he walked into her room on Friday. 

“Good morning to you too, Lits.” he greeted his patient, stopping by the foot of her bed to take a look at her charts, like always.

“You’re lucky it’s a good memory or I’d make you change it.” she said, ignoring his salutations.

“Is this one of the exes I’ve heard about?” he asked with a sigh, going around to sit beside her. 

“Yep. the one from the support group I was in when I was 15. Very cute, even bald. Amazing kisser.”

Ian laughed at her animated retelling of accounts. “Well I’m glad it’s associated to a good kisser” 

The young woman turned to face him, “You look particularly glowly today. Are you hiding something from me?”

“What could I possibly be hiding from you, Lits.” he humored her as he reached out to change the bandage on her right arm, “You even know the name of my cologne.”

“So many hues of pink, gold even,” she murmured, eyes dancing around him until she seemingly reached a conclusion..“Who is he? I will kill you..”

Ian sighed one more, it was too early to deal with his friend’s particular form of investigative tendencies. 

“You are a nuisance, you know that right?” he told her as he tended to his task. “Relax your arm or it’ll hurt.”

She did as she was told but fixed him a hard, impatient look. “Ian Clayton Gallagher. Tell me!.” 

“Jesus, Thalita. Fine.” Ian relented under the pressure of her gaze “ I’m an idiot and I’m pretty sure I’m in love with a friend of mine who’s straight but instead of being smart about it I just dig myself in deeper. You happy now?”

There were a lot of reasons why Ian hadn’t confided in anyone about his feelings for Mickey. Why he hadn’t told the whole truth when Mandy asked, or why he hadn't gone to his siblings for advice like he normally would. 

The main reason, of course, was that everyone in that scenario actually knew the two men involved and while that sounded like it’d be ideal, it actually just meant that if they told him he was fucking up, Ian’d have to listen. 

And that’s precisely what Ian didn’t want. He didn’t want to give into the rational and scared part of his subconscious, the one that told him he was making a mistake. He wanted to dive head first into the part of himself that was finally excited about something. 

If Ian vocalized it, if he addressed it, if he heard how stupid he was being, that inconsequrntial, pure bliss he felt would be gone, wouldn’t it?

“No I’m not happy!” Thalita answered him like he knew she would. “Who’s this friend? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Ian let out yet another sigh as he applied medication on the girl’s wounds. Grimacing slightly at the soft whimper she let out. 

“Because I didn’t really want to talk about it, Lits. For a while I didn't even want to think about it, I just hoped if I ignored it, these feelings would go away.” he confessed. “I don't know how I’m going to fix it but I don’t want to lose him. Don’t want to fuck up what we have.”

“I’m sorry.” the young woman told him, her eyes soft and comforting. Ian realized how pale she looked, and it broke his heart. 

“No, I’m sorry.” Ian said, embarrassed at his unprofessional outburst. “I was rude and I shouldn’t have been.” he gently squeezed her hand in his. “It’s just hard to talk about it. It’s like I feel both amazing and like a dumbass, at the same time.”

They were quiet for a while as Ian got back to his task. 

“It’s not wrong to fall for someone, Ian.” Thalita’s voice gently broke through. “ i know I don’t have a lot of experience with love, but I do know that right now, you’re happy - your aura is happy.” 

He stopped his bandaging and looked at her straight on. 

“I can feel it in your energy.” she continued. “Even if it’s scaring you, it’s still making you happy. So focus on that feeling and you’ll be okay. Falling in love with a friend, even when it’s unrequited, doesn't have to mean the ending of that relationship or that feeling.” 

Thalita reached out and placed her right hand on Ian’s chest. “It can transform into something else, into other forms of love. Just trust the universe.”

Ian blinked away the tears he felt forming in his eyes. “Why do you always sound like a fairy full of wisdom?” he joked softly, bringing her hand up to his lips so he could give it a quick kiss. 

“Oh it was the chemo.” she smiled at him, “Gave me all the knowledge in the world.”

“Thank you, Lits.” he said honestly.

“Love you.” she said softly, before scrunching her nose, giving him her best smug expression, “See? It’s possible to love friends.”

“Ha ha!” Ian jested, finishing up so he could take the young woman to get breakfast. 

Once they were their way down the hall, he leaned down and confessed to her another of his secrets. “I’m seeing him tomorrow, like for the first time in a while.”

“Ah, I get the gold now, you’re excited.”

“Yea.. right now I’m mostly nervous.” he admitted, “Hope I don’t freak him out.”

“You won’t.” Thalita assured him, sounding as sincere as he’d ever heard her. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

**

The car ride to Cook County Correctional Facilities was relevantly short - only half an hour out of Chicago - but Ian could feel the time slipping away from him at an alarming rate. When he and his sisters finally got to the juvenile detention center, Ian checked his watch and calculated that he still had 3 hours left to get to get to Mickey. 

His plan was simple. He’d go in, give his brother a quick pep talk and drive over the prison building while his sisters finished up their visit. 

Fiona loved to talk and Carl was usually pretty grateful for the time away from whatever schemes he had had going, so based on past experiences, Ian assumed his sisters would be spending the entire allocated time with Carl. He could make it to Mickey and back, within those 3 hours, with time to spare. 

Unfortunately for him, it seemed the world had other plans. 

First, a clerical error messed up the entire visitors log for all the detainees, which meant they had to spend over an hour and a half trying to get certified so they could even actually make it inside the building. 

Then, they spent another 30 minutes waiting for the prince himself to deign them with his presence. Only to come out looking like he’d gotten stomped on by the entire cell block. 

Suffice it to say that it was kind of hard to slip away once his sisters started sobbing. 

Eventually, Carl pissed Fiona off enough with all his bravado and dismissiveness, that she herself asked to leave. But not before warning the boy that if shit like that was what he had planned for the next two years, he’d end up not only killing himself but her as well.

She stormed out of the detention center, with Debbie crying at her heels, and Ian wondered if perhaps this was some sort of cosmic punishment. 

All things said and done, he’d been left with only 45 minutes and the task of asking his sisters to wait in the car while he met with his crush. 

_Perfect._

“I’ll be quick,” Ian promised his sisters once he parked in the visitors section. “I told him I’d stop by, I can’t just not show up.”

“Go.” Fiona said with a smile, “We’ll listen to some music and calm down. It’s fine, Ian.”

“Yeah, go see your prison boyfriend.” Debbie teased from the backseat. 

“Shut the fuck up, Debbie.” he said as he climbled out the car. 

40 minutes. It’d do.

Processing went by much quicker this time around and soon enough, Ian was sitting in booth #5, a wall of plexiglass in front of him as he waited for Mickey to arrive. 

He rubbed his sweaty hands on the front of his jeans and willed his breathing under control. As Ian tapped his nails on the wired phone in his hand and bounced his legs in place, he thought maybe this was the most anxious he’d ever been to see another man. 

And when the doors opened, and he saw Mickey swagger over to him, Ian thought maybe his heart had stopped beating all together. 

“Hi Mickey..” he breathed out, eyes fixed on the man’s face. voice so soft it sounded like a whisper. 

Mickey Milkovich was 10 times more beautiful than he remembered, than that singular profile photo in his Next Chapter packet had let on. 

His eyes were just as icy blue as he’d envisioned, a stark contrast to his jet black hair and milky white skin. 

He looked younger in person than he did in the photo, though Ian could see the effects that 6 years inside had on the man. And though he looked good in mustard, Ian couldn’t wait to see him out in the world. 

“No exclamation point in person?” Mickey asked him, a tasing glint to his tone. He bit on the corner of his bottom lip as he looked Ian up and down, as if studying him, committing him to memory. 

At that moment, Ian would have given anything to know what the other man was thinking. 

“Nope.” Ian answered with a smile, “no exclamation point needed.”

They both quietly stared at each other for a bit, their gaze bouncing off each other’s faces, content with private observations. 

Eventually Mickey broke the charged silence. “Now I officially can’t imagine you with black hair.” 

Ian laughed and instinctively ran a hand over his hair. “Yeah red’s my trademark. A ginger icon if you will.”

“Yeah okay, calm down,” Mickey chuckled along, rolling at his eyes. The sight of it made Ian’s stomach clench. 

“Sorry I got here so late,” he told the man in front of him, “we were at Carl’s for longer than I expected.” 

“It’s fine, man.” Mickey assured with a dismissive wave, “How’s your brother?” 

“Fine, according to him, not so fine according to his split lip and black eye.”

Mickey tensed slightly, but quickly recovered. “Gotta make your name early, let them know they can’t fuck with you. Seems like he didn’t need your how-to manual, huh?”

Ian rolled his eyes dramatically at the other man’s smirk, “Yeah he’s a real natural.”

The men smiled at each other, falling silent once again, and as Ian stared into Mickey’s eyes he knew there was no going back for him, 

Desperately, he prayed that somehow, by some miracle, the man could maybe fall in love with him too. 

“Just 4 more days..” Ian whispered, almost as if to himself.

“Can’t fucking belive it, man.” Mickey said, still biting on his bottom lip 

Ian knew the imagery would make its way into every dream he was going to have from that day on. 

“Do you have a ride back into town?” he remembered to ask. “I can call off work if you need-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Mickey cut in. “My brother’s coming. Milkovich traditions.‘ he explained. 

“Oh okay.” Ian agreed, nodding along. He wasn’t disappointed or anything but fuck if he wasn’t going to offer.  
.  
“Thanks though” the man told him with small smile, bringing his free hand to rub at his eyes and the bridge of his nose, 

“Nice tattoos” Ian chuckled, noticing the Fuck U-UP tattoed on the man’s knuckles. 

“Oh yea..” Mickey looked down sheepishly at his hand, as if just then remembering his own tattoos. “Another Milkovich tradition.”

“Very cult like family you got there.” 

“Says the guy with a thousand brothers and sisters.” the man scoffed. 

“Bet those helped you in here.” he gestured to Mickey’s knuckles. 

“Yea well,” Mickey shrugged, not looking Ian in the eyes, “gotta let ‘em know.”

“I’ll put that in the manual.” Ian noted, tapping on his head to indicate he was going to remember that. 

“You do that, Gallagher.” Mickey laughed softly. “You got any ink?”

“None I want to talk about.” Ian laughed along.

“Oh now I gotta know.” the man urged.

“Not really anything I can show here anyways.” he said with a smirk, happy it was true. The tattoos on his body weren’t exactly indicative of his fine decision making skills. 

“Tramp stamp, huh?” Mickey asked with a grin, his expressive eyebrows wiggling up and down suggestively. 

“You got me.” Ian played along, matching his happy expression. 

He took a breath before changing the subject, 

“I, uh, know it’s like a month away and shit, but we were talking about our annual Halloween party on the way up and I figured I’d let you know you’re invited, so you can uh, keep your calendar open or whatever.” 

_Smooth,_ he mentally kicked himself. _Fucking lamest guy on the planet._

“You askin’ me to go trick or treating with you, Gallagher?” Mickey asked him with a smirk, his eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“Shut up.” Ian told him, rolling his eyes. “It’s actually the best Gallagher tradition we have. Fiona goes all out with the decorations, Kev supplies the booze and there’s a shit ton of candy. It’s pretty dope.”

“Yea alright. I’ll check my calendar,” the man mocked, “see if I’m free.”

“You can come as casper the ghost,” Ian offered with his own smirk. “Don't even need a costume “

“Ah you got jokes, huh, life size Chuckie?” Mickey taunted, pursing his lips for what Ian suspected was supposed to be an intimidating expression. 

Though instead of intimidated, Ian was just inappropriately turned on.

He forced out a laugh, hoping it would explain the flush he could feel creeping up his neck. “Gonna run out of ginger jokes eventually.”

“We’ll see about that..” the other man said simply, the smirk back on lips, eyes still sparkling with something Ian couldn’t read.

He and Mickey were busy staring at each other again when suddenly an alarm buzzed. 

“Fuck, already?” he asked instinctively. 

Mickey sniffed in response, “Time flies..” 

“I’ll see you later, Mick.” Ian told the other man with a grin, as the people around them started getting up. “And hey, no plexiglass next time.” 

Mickey just stared at him for a second before finally returning his smile.

“See you, Ian.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Back with another chapter!  
> Again, I want to thank you all for the lovely comments. You have no idea how much it means to me, truly. 
> 
> **Thank you so much!**
> 
> I'm a huge mood writer/reader so it also helps me when I'm cpmpletely submerged in what I'm reading/writing, so because of that I crafted [this](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4smJXI5JARlxDb0btQdvfd?si=POVe-DF2SqGgkrVqqts03A) playlist to go along the chapter. In case any of you are the same, check it out as you read (or after is fine too lol), it folllows the progressions of vibes through out the chapter. Though fair warning, it could be pretty spoilery if you read the song titles before you read the actual chapter, so keep that in mind..
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy what's coming next. 
> 
> Lots of love to all of you & espeically to the queen [Leilah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/labelma/pseuds/labelma) (who writes beautifully - you should deff check out her work!)
> 
> ❤️Xx

When Ian left the Cook County Correctional that Saturday afternoon, his heart full, his body warm with affection, he felt like maybe, just this once, the universe had actually worked in his favor. 

Ian had done the boyfriend thing before. He’d tried being in a committed relationship, he’d tried the casual hookups, and it hadn’t been all bad. But not once had those experiences added to his life the way his friendship with Mickey had. 

Not once had those men thrilled him, or brought him peace, not like Mickey did. 

Mickey probably wasn’t in love with him and that was fine, It was okay. Ian could get past that, he _would_ get past that, because at the end of the day, the only thing that actually mattered was how right it felt to be in the man’s presence. How easy it was to talk to him, about nothing, about everything. 

How natural it all seemed. 

Maybe, just this once, the universe had given him the one thing he’d actually wanted all along, something real and good. 

Something that woke him up. 

**

That Saturday night, Ian didn’t get his usual phone call from Mickey.

It wasn‘t a big deal.

He’d literally just seen the man a few hours ago, had talked to him in person.They’d made plans, for God’s sake. It was perfectly reasonable for Mickey not to call him.

Mickey still had 4 days inside, he could call Ian whenever he wanted, he could call him on his last night there. 

They could talk about what Mickey wanted to do when he got out, Ian could tease him over the fact that he probably wouldn’t know his way around the neighborhood anymore. Mickey would tell him that was bullshit. They could argue and crack stupid jokes, make each other smile...

But Mickey didn’t call and it wasn’t a big deal. 

**

On Tuesday, as Ian sat in the cafeteria eating his lunch and listening to Thalita ramble on about the Center’s latest gossip, he wondered how Mickey’s first day out was going.

When Ian got released, Lip had been waiting to take him home. He hadn't really known what to expect, hadn’t planned anything, but what he wasn’t expecting was everyone to act like him suddenly being home wasn't a big deal, like they all had better things to do than to acknowledge his newfound freedom. 

It fucking sucked. 

Unlike the rest of his family, Ian had nothing to do. All he had was the stark reality that he was the only one who had lost a year of his life.

Bnt he’d done enough sulking in prison, so instead, he’d taken a nap on the couch. Because he could. He’d basically burned his skin off in a ridiculously long, hot shower. Because he could. He ate all the junk he could find and let himself feel at home again. Let himself breathe. 

And at night, when he realized his siblings had set up a surprise shindig for him, Ian felt pretty fucking lucky.

He hoped the Milkoviches could make Mickey feel that way too.

But since he had no clue of what the man had planned, Ian figured the least he could do was keep his phone on him, just in case he needed someone to talk to. 

Apparently, he hadn’t. 

By the time Ian got into bed that night, after checking his phone for the thousandth time, that little voice in his head - the same one that’d told him repeatedly that he’d been making a fool of himself, that that other shoe was bound to drop - started getting a little louder. A little more difficult to ignore. 

He ignored it anyway, _fuck that voice._

Mickey didn’t owe Ian anything. Wasn’t like he’d Ian promised he’d call him the day he got out of prison. Hell, the man probably didn’t even have a working phone yet, Ian’s own cell phone had been disconnected when he’d gone in. 

Mickey had been locked away for 6 years, it wasn’t logical for Ian to assume talking to him was any kind of priority in the man’s life. 

Mickey wasn’t in love with him, he was just his friend. There was literally nothing to worry about.

And as Ian drifted off to sleep, he clung to that assurance like a lifeline, a silent mantra. 

_Everything was fine, they were good, They’d been laughing together only days ago. Everything was fine._

He’d hear from Mickey soon enough and until then he’d ignore all his pessimistic tendencies. 

But when a week passed and Mickey was still radio silent? Well, the pessimism started to settle in and that damn voice was becoming deafening.

_Congratulations, I told you you’d fuck everything up._

**

“Alright, enough. What’s going on, Red? Your dark grays are only getting worse.”

Ian knew Thalita was going to pick up on his shitty mood soon enough.

The Monday following his visit, the young woman had hounded him the moment she laid eyes on him, gushing about how happy he looked. It was unlikely that she’d willingly ignore the steady decline he’d been on, and it was even less likely she’d keep it to herself. 

Unfortunately for her, there was no chance he was going to talk about it. 

“Thalita, you know I care about you and if you care about me, you’ll drop it.” Ian said as he made his way to her bedside, making sure to look her in the eyes. “You won’t ask, you won’t dig, you’ll ignore whatever it is you think you know and you think you see. Please.”

Thalita was quiet for a long time, searching his face for the answers he knew she wouldn’t find. 

As if on instinct, he locked his jaw, giving the girl what his family always called “the chin”. He needed her to understand that he was serious about this.

It worked. 

“Okay.” the young woman nodded. 

“Okay.” 

They didn’t talk about his aura again. 

And though Ian’s days went on as they usually did, his routine specially crafted to be solid, unwavering, Ian was consumed with thoughts of Mickey as he tried his hardest to understand what the fuck had hapenned between them. Exactly why the fuck he was getting ghosted. 

Rationally speaking, the answer was pretty obvious. 

That perfect connection he thought he’d had with Mickey? It was all a product of his sick, deranged brain. 

He’d built them up. 

The friendship.. 

The fond gaze..

The soft smiles.. 

Either that or somehow Mickey managed to fuck up his parole in 24hrs and had gotten himself thrown back in jail?

It wasn’t the most realistic of theories, but fuck if it wasn’t the least painful to imagine.

If that were the case, it was possible to assume that Mickey not reaching out had little to do with what Ian had or hadn’t done. It wasn’t personal, it was logistical. Ian hadn’t fucked them up. 

Like Schrodinger's cat, if Ian could just let himself believe it, let himself wonder without seeking out any sort of confirmation, then it could very well be true. 

Hell, it’d be easy. 

After all. it’s not like Ian had any direct way of contacting the other man. He didn’t have the guy’s number. He didn’t know where he lived, where he worked. It was as if he’d fallen for a literal ghost.

Except there was Mandy...

And surely she’d know where her brother was. Sure she hadn’t brought Mickey up, hadn’t said a word to Ian in their casual texts, but it wasn’t like Ian had asked. 

He could go on not asking. He could go on not knowing. The box was closed. The cat was both alive and dead. Ian could keep it that way, right? 

Wrong.

**October 16th, 2020**

**[Ian](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fd179bc73c06cb3c542d8a30538b2550/b42a2807d8eec67e-93/s640x960/6e5748b0f259a8154a5bdaa2ff54b491c0d63f65.png) (4:44):** Hey  
**Ian (4:44):** I don’t know if you’re avoiding the topic or not, and if you are I’m sure you have your reasons  
**Ian (4:45):** I totally respect it and I won’t ever bring it up again  
**Ian (4:45):** But I feel like I’m going crazy  
**Ian (4:45):** Which is ironic since I am certifiable

Ian took a labored breath, slumping against the tree as he typed out his texts to Mandy. 

He hadn‘t left the house that morning intent on finally breaking down, on succumbing to his curiosity. He was actually very set against it. He’d gone 14 days without any news, he could go at least 14 more. 

He wasn’t going to open that lid.

But then he’d started running, and it seemed that with every mile that _fucking_ voice only got louder. Never mind the fact he’d turned up the volume of his headphones. Never mind the fact that he was so keyed up he could hear his own fucking heartbeat ringing in his ears. 

The voice was still fucking there, and Ian couldn’t fucking take it anymore. 

**[Ian](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b37b66e1eb235cda60a614441a65df4b/b42a2807d8eec67e-c3/s640x960/c3f49b42572988f8c967ca6ada710f326614de9c.png) (4:47):** But I just need to know what the fuck is up  
**Ian (4:47):** So just answer me this one thing, ok?  
**Ian (4:47):** Is Mickey okay? Like Is he alive?

He took a sip of his water, hoping it would help him calm down, ease the knots in his stomach, the slight nausea building. Ian closed his eyes, focused on the dampness of the truck on the back of his neck, the sharp ridges digging into his back.

Ian wasn’t sure how long he stood there. 

His body still, head resting on the bark while branches shook around him, their leaves falling when the harsh October winds picked up. Goosebumps all on his skin.

Ian’s phone buzzed. 

**[Mandy](https://64.media.tumblr.com/00e28dde9299395715791acf60120cf8/b42a2807d8eec67e-2b/s640x960/43f08db7131236ae5a981cd725e878871c57ec39.png) (4:59):** Ian, calm down  
**Mandy (4:59):** What are you even talking about?  
**Mandy (5:00):** Mickey’s fine?

Well there it was...

There was the answer Ian already fucking knew, deep down. There was the ccnfirmation he didn’t fucking need. Only he did, didn’t he?

 **Ian (5:02):** So he got out on the 2nd? He’s out? 

Ian asked finally, his hands slightly trembling. He felt impossibly cold.

 **[Mandy](https://64.media.tumblr.com/981862332a71f3e9dfadc5e9d7640b6f/b42a2807d8eec67e-6a/s640x960/58c1b069ba3b8026cd16f9d63fc16a4552e4ba7b.png) (5:02):** Yea?  
**Mandy (5:02):** Wait, have you not talked to him?  
**Mandy (5:03):** ?????

Instead of replying, Ian pocketed his phone, pushing himself off the tree as he swallowed down the hurt that stung his throat, and got back to his run. 

He didn’t cry, didn’t scream. didn’t pick up when Mandy called over and over again. Ian ran. 

He ran. 

Like Mickey had. 

Like he should have all along,

**

The worst thing was, Ian couldn’t even say he was surprised. Fact was, he'd been let down by love, in almost all its forms, his entire goddamn life. 

As a kid, Ian watched all the children's movies he could, the fairy tales, the cartoons, and one thing always stood true: parents were good. They did good things for their kids. They always had their best interests at heart.

Sure, there'd be a wicked stepmother here and there, an evil witch. But things always worked out, because in the end, nothing was stronger than a parent’s love. 

But what about the ones where the parents were up one day and down the next? Where the love they were supposed to feel for their own children seemed just as unstable as the adult themselves? 

Ian Gallagher didn’t watch any movies like that.

He lived through them, instead.. 

Like when Ian was 3 and his days were filled with music and his mother’s laughter. Days when Frank would swing him around the room, dancing with him, Lip and Fiona.

Like they were in the ballet, like they were in a play. 

_“Daddy, louder louder!” Ian would happily shriek, giggly and bright eyed._

_Frank heaved him up so Ian could turn the knobs on the speakers, throwing him up in the air and catching him before he fell._

_“Dance away, kids. We’re in Footloose and you’re free!”_

Days when Monica would cook them all their favorite food, and they would all eat until they couldn’t anymore and then suddenly it was time for a food fight.

_“Here! Come take shelter with me!” Monica would call over to Ian from behind the kitchen table, flipped like a barricade to shield from the baby carrots flying through the air like bullets._

_“Brownie!” Ian would say, pointing to the goodies the floor, his preferred weapon in battle._

_“Good Job, Ian!” his mother would say after he’d thrown the sweet at his brother, kissing Ian on the cheek. “You’re so good, my beautiful boy.”_

Days when his parents would kiss and declare themselves to each other, declare their love for their kids. 

Or when Ian was 5 and his nights were filled with sirens and his mother’s wails. Nights when Monica would yell at him to get out, shoving him off when he’d try to hug her.

_“Mommy, please get up.” Ian would beg, tugging on his mom’s srrms, which hung like jello by her side._

_Monica had been on the floor for what seemed like forever and he needed her to stand up, to get better._

_But instead of moving, instead of taking Ian’s outstretched hand, she’d look at him like he was a stranger, no life behind her eyes. “Leave me the fuck alone!” she’d yell, pushing him away from her._

Nights when Frank would come home drunk, reeking of vomit, and Ian, Lip and Fiona had to hide in the closet until the shouting match ended. 

_“You’re not leaving me with these fucking brats again!” Frank would roar, the sound of glass breaking vibrating through the closet door._

_Fiona always hugged Ian close then, she knew he was scared of the dark._

_“Well I’m not staying, Frank. I need to fucking breathe. You suffocate me, This life is suffocating me.”_

Nights when his parents would fight and declare their hatred for one another, declare their disdain for their kids.

Frank and Monica Gallagher were the very first people to teach Ian that sometimes love was complicated and shitty. But they weren’t the last.

As a teenager, Ian had no real north when it came to romance. The marriages he knew of were all complete shit shows, he couldn’t exactly mirror the relationships around him, and the cheesy stuff that played on tv didn’t feature any gay couples from places like the South Side.

So he had to figure it out on his own. It was like he was always on his own. 

Until one day, he wasn’t.

Kash was there. Kash saw him, listened to him, gave a shit. He wanted Ian around, wanted his caresses, his attention. Kash loved Ian. 

Until one day, he didn’t. 

_“He’s not coming back, Ian,” Linda told Ian as she stood behind the counter of the store._

_He’d heard her but the woman wasn’t making sense. Kash hadn’t called him in a few days, not since he’d told Ian to run, to get out of there, but Linda was wrong. Kash was coming back. He loved Ian. He wouldn’t leave him. He wouldn’t leave him._

_“He wouldn’t leave me.” Ian must have whispered._

_He needed to convince himself of that, he needed to believe it._

_“Ha.” the woman barked out a harsh, humourless laugh. She was looking at Ian with a mix of anger, disgust and pity. It made his blood boil. “He left his wife, his children, all the responsibilities he vowed to keep. You think he wouldn’t leave you?”_

_“He wouldn't.” Ian said, turning around before Linda could see his tears fall. He hated how pathetic he sounded, how pathetic he must have looked to her._

So he walked out the store, and he ran. He cried. He screamed. And under the weight of all the broken promises Kash made him, Ian felt his heart breaking. 

Years later, when he started coming to terms with the fact that his ‘relationship’ with Kash hadn't been what he’d thought it was. That it hadn't been love but instead something much darker, more sinister, Ian felt his heart break all over again. 

But nothing had been worse than when Ian had been let down by the love he’d felt for his damn self, for his future. When Ian learned he couldn’t even trust his own brain, couldn’t even trust himself. A lesson which apparently Ian was supposed to learn over and over... 

Because once again, there he was. 

He’d let himself fall for a man who clearly didn’t feel the same, let himself think it wouldn’t blow up in his face, let himself believe that love wasn’t going to let him down again.

That he could give into his feelings.

 _That he could trust himself._

So yeah, Ian wasn't surprised. 

When the redhead got home that night, limbs heavy from exertion, he barely waved over to Lip who lay spread out on the couch before dragging himself straight to his room so he could grab his towel.

Leaving his phone on airplane mode, Ian turned his music on shuffle and let the hot water cascade down, desperate to wash the day away. 

But he couldn’t turn brain off, couldn’t keep the intrusive thoughts away, no matter how convoluted they got. He felt hurt and then immediately he’d feel like he was blowing everything out of proportion. He was angry with Mickey and then it was back to being all his own fault. On and on it went.

By the end, Ian was exhausted - emotionally and physically. He dried off, took his pills, and let sleep take him the hell away. 

**

 **Mandy (5:10):** Ian, what the fuck  
**Mandy (6:10):** answer the phone  
**Mandy (7:20):** 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬

When Ian finally turned his phone on he had 5 new missed calls from Mandy, which admittedly, only made him like dick. Mandy didn’t deserve to get dragged in the middle of this whole emotional turmoil of his. He wasn’t some kid who couldn’t separate things. 

**[Ian](https://64.media.tumblr.com/0dc70b3ec39d81b2e3f5fd0291b50b97/b42a2807d8eec67e-0d/s640x960/eb953085284092975b8bfdd5c27538e9f7039a3d.png) (6:32):** I’m sorry, Mands  
**Ian (6:32):** I turned my phone off for the night  
**Ian (6:33):** I’ll call you on my lunch break?

He did just that, pacing the empty courtyard as he waited for his friend to answer. 

Mandy’s annoyed “What the hell, Ian?” was the first thing he heard when the call connected. He deserved that. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I needed to disconnect for a bit.” he explained sheepishly, embarrassed by how juvenile he thought he sounded, despite it being the truth and the best thing he could’ve done for himself. 

“It’s fine,” Mandy sighed, “I just want you to understand that I don't know what’s going on with my fuckhead brother and I don’t agree with him on a lot of things, but I’m not him. You can’t just-”

Ian cut her off, “I know, I won’t. What you and I have has absolutely nothing to do with me and Mickey. I promise,” he stressed, hoping she believed him. “I really just couldn’t...” 

“I get it.” she said, and quietly added, “I’m sorry, babe...” 

“Don’t.” Ian told her softly, “You literally have nothing to apologize for.” 

There was lull in the conversation, a comforting silence. 

“So guess which notoriously vegan celeb scarfed down 3 of our normal ass cupcakes yesterday?”

**

Days turned into weeks and though Ian would be lying if he said he still didn’t think about Mickey, didn’t wish he could take back whatever it was that he did to make the other man drop him, life went on. 

He kept himself busy, distracted. Ian did what he could, because honestly, what other choice did he have?

On the last day before the Gallagher halloween party, the redhead was tasked with about a million missions - all by his design. He figured if he could stay out of the house, the chances of anyone bringing up the topic of Mickey dwindled down significantly. If there was one thing he’d learned being the middle child in a house full of nosy Gallaghers, it was how to expertly avoid questions. 

So that’s how he found himself roaming the streets of Chicago on a Thursday afternoon, hitting party store after party store, loading the car full of pieces that looked straight out of the set of a gory horror movie. 

Checking off another item on his list, Ian thanked the cashier and walked with all the fake blood the place had in stock, feeling like an extra in the Twilight movies. 

Before he could make it back to his parking space, Ian caught a man falling in his peripheral, clutching his left arm as he stumbled to scream for help. 

Maybe it was the whole hero thing, only made 100 times worse by the fact that he’d once been a trained EMT, but without even thinning, Ian dropped the bags he was carrying and rushed to the man’s side. 

“Sir, let me help me okay? Can you breathe?” he asked the man calmly, kneeling so they could be at eye level. 

The man looked to be in his 50’s, and in his distress had slumped down to the ground in front of his blue work van, one of it’s back loading doors still open. 

“Yes, but, it’s hard. A lot of pressure,” the man answered through labored breaths, indicating with his right hand that he felt pressure in his chest and lungs, like Ian suspected. 

“Ok, try and breathe as best you can, help is on it’s way.” Ian assured him, already on the phone with 911. “I’m on the corner of Lexington and 5th, in front of Tate Hardware, male in his 50’s presenting signs of a heart attack. Tightness and pressure in his left arm and chest, difficulty breathing.”

The operator assured him someone was on the way and Ian put his phone down so he could tend to the man in front of him, leaving it on speaker just in case. 

“An ambulance will be here soon,” Ian told the older gentleman, who seemed slightly panicked as he gripped onto Ian’s hand, “you’re going to be okay.” 

“Thank you,” he said to Ian as another person joined them, announcing their presence through concerned shouts.

“What the fuck? Ozzy!! Are you okay?” 

Ian wasn’t facing the speaker, had his back turned to the sidewalk, but he didn’t need to see him, Ian would recognize that voice anywhere. 

He turned around to face Mickey. “He’s having a heart attack. I’ve called 9-1-1, they should be here any second now.”

“Ian?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst tag was there for a reason, y'all.  
> I know this was a shorter and maybe it felt a tad out of left field, but I did try my best to hide clues that perhaps something like this was going to happen in the previous chapters. Let me know if anyone was able to pick up on that, lol.
> 
> Anxious to hear y'all's thoughts. 
> 
> So much love! ❤️Xx
> 
> P.s. Mickey's POV is next!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Mickey, perfect and flawed. A dumbass, a sweetheart. the best boy in the world.
> 
> Hope you all like this chapter, a glimpse into Mickey's mind.  
> Can't wait to hear all the thoughts! (Oh, & let me know who's POV you like better, I'm super curious)  
> Love love love you all!
> 
> ❤️ Xx

Mickey’s mind hadn’t stopped racing since he’d seen Ian in person, since he’d cut the bullshit, admiting at least to himself that he was in so fucking deep. 

He hadn;t meant for it to happen, hadn’t meant to fall for the guy’s genuine kindness, his honesty, his humanity. 

In fact, typically, it all would have pissed Mickey off.

When he’d signed up for Next Chapters, he was certain it was going to be a clown fest. There was no chance he was going to connect with any of the bozos they’d roped into participaste. There was no chance they had anything to tell him he didn’t already know. 

The whole thing would be simply to appease the parole board, a means to an end. 

Then he stuck with the freckled ginger he’d gravitated towards his whole life, and little by little, shit got out of his control. 

_Fucking figures._

Ian never tried to sugar coat shit, never tried to pretend like he knew who Mickey was just based on what he knew of him, on what he’d been told. When he’d tried to get closer to him, it wasn’t off of pretense, it all just happened naturally. 

Before he knew it, Mickey was looking forward to his letters, to the guy’s brand of honesty, his dumbass questions. 

Before he knew it, Mickey was looking forward to their phone calls, to Ian’s infectious laughter, the eagerness with which he greeted him, the warmth in his voice when he said his name.

Before he knew it, Mickey was sprung.

That alone didn’t scare Mickey, didn’t send him into some sort of gay panic. 

He was done pretending he wasn’t gay, done trying to hide it to himself. Mickey was about to get out of prison only to himself in a cage, that cage died with Terry. _May the Devil torture his soul._ Being attracted to Ian, wanting to fuck Ian wasn’t the problem. 

The problem was that Ian felt it too, he just fucking knew it. 

He would get out and they would go on being friends, and eventually they’d be more. It was obvious to him that’s where it was going to go. Was obvious in their gaze, the fondness, the longing. Obvious in the silence between their breaths, heavy with hunger. They made sense as friends, but that wasn’t going to be enough, was it?

At least not until Ian got sick of slumming it, until he wanted more. _Rightfully so._

Where would that leave them, then? 

Nah, Mickey wasn’t scared by the fact he fell for Ian. 

He was scared of what would come after. 

**

“Don’t want to see your ugly face again, Milkovich,” Petrov told him as Mickey signed the release papers. Of all the asshole guards in there, Petrov was the least insufferable, _for a wanna be pig that is._

“Uhum, fuck you,” Mickey said without looking up from what he was doing. 

Returning the documents, he turned to face the other guards around him, a cocky grin on his face. “Fuck you,” he told the old, fat bastard by the door, “and especially fuck you,” he emphasized to guard scanning his bag. 

The 3 guards, not rising to the bait, shook their heads as Mickey collected his belongings from the bin. 

He was leaving in a pair of standard issued sweatpants, white tank he always wore and sweatshirt, like he was property of the fucking state. In the duffle bag they provided, Mickey stasheed 5 drawings, two notebooks, and all the letters he’d received from ian. 

The contents of 6 years of his life wasn’t enough to fill a fucking backpack. 

“Get outta here,” Petrov called out from behind his station, and without looking back, Mickey finally walked out the doors of Cook County Penitentiary. 

Immediately Mickey was temporarily blinded by the bright sunlight, the wind picking up the moment he got outside, causing goosebumps to cover his skin. He stood there for a moment, in front of the doors, slightly stunned by the fact he was actually outside, alone. 

That he was actually free. 

After a few deep breaths, Mickey made his way to the visitor parking lot. He tried to shake off the feeling that he needed to haul ass before someone noticed him, the feeling that he was getting away with something. 

He spotted Iggy leaning on the side of a shitty, blue toyota, right leg propped up, aviators on his face. Long gone were the days of dirty clothes and grimmy hair. 

The man whistled over when he caught a side of his younger brother.

“Damn, did you get shorter, bro?” Iggy said as Mickey got to him. He took off his glasses and exaggeratingly sized the man up, his typical slick smile beaming at Mickey. _Some things never changed._

“You get dumber?” Mickey quipped back, kicking the man’s left leg.

Iggy laughed and got off the car, enveloping Mickey in a quick hug, “It’s good to see you, man,”

“You too,” Mickey said, nodding in way of thanks when his brother opened the back door, taking the bag from his grip. 

He got in the passenger seat and waited for his brother to start off the car. 

“Ready to get the fuck outts here?” Iggy asked him when they got to the gate. 

Mickey glanced up at the rearview mirror to his left, the complex getting smaller as they got some distance, “You got no idea.” 

**

The Milkoviches were far from traditional, they were trashy as fuck, violent, hateful, but like most familes in the ghetto, they were always in a pack. Mickey and his siblings had the shittiest childhood imaginable, but they'd gotten through together, always around one another. Most of the time, they’d only had each other. 

The years came and went, but that remained the same. 

“Fucking finally, huh?” his cousin Sandy called out as Mickey and Iggy walked into the apartment. 

As she threw her arms around him, Mickey let go of what he was carrying and let himself be embraced. “You tellin’ me..”

Allergic to normal affection like any self respecting Milkovich, Sandy finished off the hug with a knee to his groin, disheveling his hair when he doubled over. 

“Bitch,” he shot, lighty shoving her away from him. 

“Want a beer, Mick?” Iggy offered as he opened the small, white fridge.

Mickey took a seat in one of the three chairs they had around a round, wooden table.  
“Abso-fuckin-lutely” he told him, reaching out to take the bottle from his brother. 

“Cheers, little bro,” Iggy said, clinking Mickey’s bottle with his own. 

“To Terry!” Sandy called out, raising her own drink. 

“Fuck you,” Mickey scowled, his right middle finger directly in her face.

“To Mikhailo!” she shouted, beaming at him as Iggy joined in, “Hear, Hear!”

Mickey rolled his eyes and drank his beer, his first in 6 long fucking years. 

_Fucking surreal._

As they drank their beers and Sandy and Iggy droned on about nothing, or something, Mickey wasn’t really paying attention, he looked around the apartment for the first time. 

A year back, when he’d been figuring out the details of his parole, the pair - who’d been living together for a few years already - assured him their apartment was just as much his as theirs. They got him all necessary paperwork and made whatever accommodations they could so the man could move in. 

In other words, they got him a pull out couch...

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding when you said the place was small,” Mickey noted as he walked into the tiny living room, which now doubled as his bedroom.

The apartment was officially marketed as a two bedroom, one bath. In actuality, it was a small one bedroom and what was basically a livable closet. 

“It’s a fuckin' shoe box, but ir’s cheap,” Sandy agreed, coming over to join him. 

“Still better than the old house, that’s for fucking sure,” Iggy called out from the kitchen.

Sandy showed Mickey how the couch pulled out, turning into what was essentially a twin bed. “Good thing you’re like a little gremlin,” she said with a smirk. 

He shot her a glare and asked, “When’s the lease up, again?”

“The 1st.” Iggy answered.

“There's a building in front of The Twisted Stool that has 3 bedroom units, Iggs and I checked one out yesterday. Rent’s good too, especially now that we can count on your fancy paycheck.”

Iggy walked in, a platter of breakfast sandwiches in hand, “Just gotta sign the papers and put down the deposit.”

Sandy grabbed two sandwiches, handing one over to Mickey. 

“Tell you what, since I’m a fuckin' angel, you can take my room tonight,” she told hum as she plotted down on his makeshift bed. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he said, going over to get his bag from where he’d left it by the door, “anything’s better than a prison bunk.” 

The pull out couch, the living room, none of it was news to Mickey, and he was being honest when he said anything was better than what’d just lived through for over half a decade. 

But Mickey couldn’t shake the feeling that he was intruding, that he was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit into the picture in front of him. 

_That he didn’t belong there.._

He was startled when Iggy clapped a hand on his shoulder, holding his breath and clenching his fists instittectly. 

“The dresser’s yours, bro. Your boss dropped it off last week” 

Mickey nodded, stil tense, and mumbled a “thanks” under his breath. He made his way over to the custom maple dresser, it’d been the first heavyweight piece he’d completed on his own. Of course his mentor being the softie he was, had kept it for him.

He ran a hand over the ridges on the top, the indents he’d left exposed. Mikey loved the fact that natural woods were always flawed in some way, no two pieces the same. But despite their imperfect appearance, the harshness of their scratches or grooves, their structural components remained, and when pieces were fit together, they were sturdy, level.

it was just a manner of knowing how to honor the differences.

Mickey opened the top drawer and saw clothes his brother had gotten him, a 5 pack of simple, striped boxers, some socks, a grand total of 3 pants and 2 packs of basic t-shirts. 

None of it was anything he'd bought himself, that he’d picked out for himself.

It didn’t matter, it _shouldn’t_ matter and it wasn’t like he wasn’t expecting it.

Iggy had left the Milkovich house almost 4 years ago and he hadn’t lugged around with him any of Mickey’s old shit, hadn’t put anything in storage. This wasn’t some corny lifetime movie, his brohter had fucking couch surfed until he settled down. 

Last week, Iggy had told him he was gonna get some stuff, just so he’d have something to change into after getting out. So yea, Mickey wasn’t _expecting_ to see any of his old crap.

Still.. 

Instead of being a fucking pussy about the reality of his life, Mickey emptied out his duffle in the drawer, picked out a random outfit and headed towards the bathroom. 

“Gonna go take a shit in pravate, take a fuckin' shower.”

“Your towel is the blue one, on the hook behind the door”, he heard Sandy call out before he shut the door. 

Finally alone for the first time in what felt like a decade, Mickey took a seat on the toilet, suddenly overwhelmed. 

He knew he should’ve been happy, grateful. 

And he was.. 

He was so fucking _relieved_ to be sitting there, in that locked, cramped bathroom, safe.

He should’ve been feeling at ease. He should’ve been feeling comfortable. 

But he wasn’t.. 

Sitting there, in that locked, cramped bathroom, one he’d never been inside of, in a place he was supposed to call home but didn’t feel familiar, full of junk that wasn't his own, all Mickey felt was out of place, out of sorts, out of breath. 

Like an alien that crashed on a new planet, Mickey _couldn’t_ feel at home, he had no idea what that word meant anymore. 

**

Iggy threw him a little black brick once Mickey got out of the bathroom. 

“Got you a burner, figured you’d work your way up to a real phone.”

He flipped the man off and mumbled. “Thanks.”

Walking over to one of the windows, Mickey dialed in one of the 5 numbers he knew off the top of his head. 

“Hey”

“Mickey!” Elton’s gruff voice roared out, “Was waiting for your call, son. This your number?”

“For now, yeah.”

“Enjoying the real world?”

Mickey didn’t really know how to answer, so he didn’t, “Was thinking I’d stop by the shop.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want. You need a ride? I can tell Ozzy to swing by your place.” 

“Nah, I’m good,” Mickey dismissed him quickly. The last thing he wanted to be chauffeured around. “Gotta get used to getting around and shit.”

“Okay, well you know the address. I’ll see you soon,” Elton rushed out in his usual manner, forcing a smile out of Mickey. The man could talk Mickey’s ear off about woodworking and all the intricacies of carpentry, but got him on the phone and the man acted like every second was radioactive. 

“Yep.”

Mickey pocketed the phone and went to find Iggy in his room. 

“Yo, I’m out. Gonna stop by Elton’s, sort some things out.”

Iggy, who lay in bed smoking a joint, stopped and looked up at him, “You want the car?”

“Nah man, gotta renew my license. Imma walk, see ya.”

“Bye, jailbird, don’t get lost.”

Mickey told him to fuck off as he left, not giving the man’s words another thought. 

That was, until he got to the bus stop closest to the apartment, and he couldn’t remember the routes. There he stood, reading the maps like a _fucking tourist._

By the time Mickey got to Elton’s, he felt even worse than when he’d left the house. 

The streets had changed, he didn’t recognize the movies on billboards, the actors. He felt cagey when he walked down sidewalks, jittery when he saw a cop car pass him by. 

Mickey felt like at any moment someone was gonna decide they made a mistake, that he shouldn't be out. That he was gonna wake up in that same cell, Damon on the shitter, singing in spanish, 

“Uh, hey. Elton here?” Mickey greeted the young woman at the reception desk. 

She popped her gum, taking forever to look up from the phone in her hand, like giving him attention was real fucking chore and not her paying job. 

Once she did finally acknowledge him, her mouth slacked open.

“Oh shit, you must be Mickey!” she practically hollored, making the man wince.

“Language, Stevie!” Mickey heard Elton bellow out from somewhere inside the shop, “Get in here, Mickey!”

Elton, being the big man he was, had Mickey in a proper bear hug before he could even think to step out of the way. 

“Mickey, that’s my niece Steveie, Ozzy’s kid,” he pointed to the blue haired girl gawking at them, now seemingly more interested in what was happening in front of her, than whatever was on her phone. “Stevie, this is Mick.”

“Sup?” 

“Come, let me show you around the place.”

Rockstar Woodworking was pretty fucking dope, better than what Mickey had envisioned. 

It was broken up into a reception space, opening into a pretty standard workshop that was divided into the three different sections representing the specific types of work they focused on in the shop. Besides that was the small warehouse and a loading dock, finishing off with the 3 offices and shared kitchen in the nook upstairs. 

Finishing up the tour with Elton’s office, the men both took a seat as they discussed the inner workings of the shop.

“Got all your parole documents?” 

“Yep,” Mickey said with a sniff, “meeting with the P.O tomorrow, should be fine.”

“Well let me know if they ask for anything else.”

Mickey nodded and chewed the inside of his cheek, slightly uncomfortable with the attention. 

He still couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten to find the man, someone who’d taken him under his wing without a second thought, who always treated him with respect regardless of where he was in life. 

When he’d promised Mickey a job at the shop he owned with his brother Ozzy, over 3 years ago, Mickey didn’t really think the man had meant it. He certainly didn’t think it’d lead to him getting a full time apprentice position.

At that moment, sitting there in his mentor’s office, Mickey grappled with the fact that while he felt he didn’t have anything going for him at the moment - that he barely had anything at all, quite literally - he still had his certifications, and now a real job, his own work station, his own tools. 

It felt like the only real thing Mickey felt he could be proud of, and he owed it all to the man in front of him. 

The man’s words snapped Mickey’s out of his thoughts, “You know you can take the week if you need..” 

“Nah,” Mickey cut in, “got nothing going on man.”

“Suit yourself, but not today. Get out here, kid, go enjoy your freedom.”

** 

Mickey figured by _“enjoying your freedom”_ the man probably hadn’t meant Mickey should wander around the streets of Chicago aimlessly, like a fish out of water, but that's exactly how he found himself. 

The city felt colder than he remembered it, it’s harsh winds slapping him in the face, unwelcoming. 

As he walked down the main streets, he could hear sirens, honking, people talking on the phone, people arguing, laughing with friends. The sensory overload made his skin itch, his nerve endings short circuiting, as if in testament to how out of sync he was with the rest of the world, 

As he crossed a park, lost in thought, Mickey felt a soccer ball hit him in the shin. Without thinking much of it, he bent down to grab the ball so he could return it to it’s rightful owner, which just so happened to a little kid who ran up to him, apologetically. 

“Here ya go,” he told the wimp, passing over the ball just as the kid’s mother appeared. An embarrassed smile wiped off her face in the .2 seconds it took for her to size him up, to take in the knuckle tattoos of his outstretched hand. 

“What did I say about walking up to strangers, Tyler?” he heard her chastate the toddler as she quickly led him away from Mickey, deciding no “sorry” or ‘thanks” was warranted if you looked like a thug, like trash. 

Because that’s what he was, wasn’t it? 

_She might have been a condescending bitch but she wasn’t wrong in her assessment._

Mickey walked around without any real direction for what felt like hours, his body numb from the cold. He remembered he didn’t have a coat. 

Didn’t have a coat, or his cut off tees, his jeans, boots, cds, dvds, posters, the baseball he’d caught at Wrigley FIeld, his first drawings, his mom's locket..

Eventually, he caught sight of a Salvation Army across the street, made his way inside. 

And as he rummaged through what had been other people’s belongings, other people's memories, he tried to let go of the ghosts of own. 

Tried to get past the feeling that he’d become a ghost himself.

That night, as he lay in ‘bed’, Mickey thought about Ian, about how the other man must be at that very moment. 

Comfortable in his own apartment, his own bedroom, his own bed. Tired after a day of work, being superman, helping sick people because apparently that’s what he loves to do. 

Accomplished. Safe. Good.

Ian was good, _he was so fucking good._

He didn’t deserve to get mixed up in Mickey’s shit, didn’t deserve to be around somebody who had nothing figured out, who was very evidently a piece of shit.

He’d built himself a good life because he deserved good things, and if Mickey got involved he’d only fuck it up. He couldn’t do that to him, _wouldn’t_ do that to him. 

Ian deserved so much better than him, and he didn’t deserve Ian at all.

**

Mickey didn’t get the do gooder parole officer Lary Ian talked about, he got Campbell, a mousy looking fucker who apparently couldn't give a shit about his parolees. 

Once he got all the paperwork attesting that Mickey was on the up and up, the man cleared his hands of him, telling Mickey he only had to show up to piss in a cup and sign his name every month.

As far as Mickey was concerned, it was fucking perfect. 

And without much thought, the man settled into a simple routine; 

He tried to settle his life as best he could. Opened a bank account in his name, bought an iphone and got his own phone plan. The most basic things that now felt so monumental. 

He walked around everywhere, getting acclimated to the city again. Avoided taking the L, trying to get past the anxiety that took over his body when there was a crowd. 

He cooked a lot, revelling in the fact he could decide what he wanted to eat, that he could eat whenever he wanted. Drank with Iggy and Sandy, who were perpetually amused by the fact that Mickey’s new tolerance was 4 beers. 

He played around with his phone, with all the apps he didn’t even remember existed, the ones he never heard of. Downloaded Spotify and got lost in the endless playlists, headphones always in his ear, a constant soundtrack playing over even the most mundane tasks. . 

Through it all, Mickey avoided the urge to contact Ian. Content in just cyber stalking him, he scrolled though the man's Instragam feed almost every other day, committing his face to memory.

The smile when he was with his niece, the glint in his eyes in the photos with his patients, the sexy smirk in his selfies. He wanted Ian _so fucking much._

But instead of giving in, he kept all the feelings he felt for the other man locked away, his private cross to bear. 

That is, until Mandy called him… 

Or more accurately, blew his phone up. 

“What the fuck, Mandy?” Mickey growled, picking up after the millionth call, when it became clear his sister wasn’t going to stop calling. “If you’re dyin’ call 9-1-1, I’m at fuckin’ work.” 

“Why the fuck haven’t talked to Ian?” Mandy sneered, her voice so piercing he had to take the phone away from his ear. “You’ve been out for 2 fuckin’ weeks.” 

It took a minute for Mickey to register what Mandy was screaming at him about. 

He stepped away from his station and walked towards the fire exit, knowing he was about to lose his cool. 

In a fit of irritation, he muttered, “Excuse me, bitch? Who the fuck died and made you queen?”

Mandy snorted, though it sounded more like snarl.

“Answer the fucking question, douchebag.”

“None of your fucking buissness, Mandy,” he stated before hanging up, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out an exasperated breath.. 

Ian had obviously said something to Mandy and wherever it was, it’d clearly been enough to piss her off.

Was Ian mad at Mickey? Confused? Sad?

 _God, he was such a fucking asshole._

Mickey ran a hand over his face, pissed at himself, at Mandy, at the whole fucking world.

But he was doing this _for_ Ian, 

[**Mandy (5:33):**](https://64.media.tumblr.com/91952e18889d136b5b0e0742d9eb2b4f/e0a2789061b1bf99-52/s640x960/e29e972a9e638330e8d0ebc61946a3b6e8073516.png) You’re a fucking prick  
**Mandy (5:33):** I should have never let him get mixed up in your shit.

**

Instead of getting back to work, Mickey called it a day. 

He was ready to drink his shitty mood away, knowing full well there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to get the job done. 

But fuck it, he’d try anyways. 

Drowning in half a bottle of scotch, he took out his phone.

 **Mickey (10:16):** Im not incolvin him in mt shut bjtxh  
**Mickey (10:16):** Thsts the while fuckin point  
**Mickey (10:18):** He desevers betterr fhan my shut

Mandy’s response didn’t take long.

[ **Mandy (10:19):**](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3f356d81af37ca1da243b12a707eefa4/e0a2789061b1bf99-92/s640x960/0b780129bdbaddbb31827c25568b4a3a1805b928.png) 🙄🙄🙄🙄  
**Mandy (10:19):** You’re a fucking dumbass

He was, but he wasn’t wrong. Not about this. 

The next day, Mickey woke up with the worst fucking hangover he’d ever had. 

Spent the morning staring into the porcelain throne, his head pounding, cold sweat all over his body. 

Mickey was _so fucking over it._ Over everything. 

“Shit, you look like death.” Sandy noted when he stepped out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. 

Mickey got the first cup he could find and filled it with water. Downing 2 aspirin and chugging half of it before he could think to get a word out. 

“Uh,” he groaned. _So maybe he still couldn’t get a word out._

He slumped down on one of the chairs, burying his face in hands.

“Saw the bottle by your bed. You celebrating something?” Sandy asked with a yawn, handing him a cup of black coffee. 

The coffee was bitter as fuck. 

“The fuck I have to celebrate?” 

_Apparently so was he._

Sandy wasn’t bothered by his mood. “Not being locked up, for one. Not having to serve hipsters all fucking night.” she listed, leaning against the counter as she took a sip of her drink. “You should be over the fucking moon, you diva.” 

Mickey sighed, hating the fact she was right, “Yeah, well..”

They finished off their coffee in silence.

“If you want to get wasted, at least stop by the bar,” his cousin told him before leaving the room, “Watch the hipsters, make it a drinking game. Polishing off a bottle home alone is depressing as fuck.” 

Mickey had already gone to the clown show Sandy and Iggy worked in, he’d much rather drink on his couch/bed. 

“Yea yea, I’ll wait for you next time.” he told the girl as he followed her out, intent on getting a couple hours of sleep before work. Elton wouldn’t mind if he went in a couple hours late. 

On his way to work, Mickey called Mandy, 

“He thought you were dead, Mick” was the first she said to him. 

He’d take puking his guts out over hearing those words again, anytime. 

“He said that?” Mickey breathed out, almost shakily, not sure if he wanted Mandy to answer. 

“Basically..”

Mickey was quiet for a beat, “What did you tell him?” he finally asked.

“Nothing, still waiting for him to call me back.”

“Don’t tell him anything, Mandy.” he urged, voice sharp, “He’s better off thinking I am dead.”

“That’s such bullshit, Mickey.” Mandy snapped, “You know he fucking cares about you, and I know you care about him, it’s so fucking obvious-”

“So what? You want us to get together? Live gayly ever after like a bunch of old queensr?” he let out a harsh laugh, no humor in it. His voice rough with the anger, _the hurt,_ he didn’t want to show. “This isn’t a fucking rom com, Mandy. I just got out of prison, I live in fucking living room, can’t even drive a fucking car yet. That what you want for Ian? A fucking loser?”

Mandy sighed, sounding so sad for her brother. 

_He hated it._

“Mickey..” 

“Stay the fuck out of this, Mandy.” Mickey ordered, though it came out las more of desperate plea. “He’ll get over it soon enough.” 

Ian was always going to get over Mickey, he had no doubt of that, it’s just a matter of time. 

He’d wake up, get over the chemistry. He'd realize he could do better, that he didn’t need a guy like Mickey around, not even as a friend. 

Ian _would_ realize that sooner rather than later and when he did, he’d drop him.

The best thing Mickey could for the both of them was to make sure it didn’t get to that. 

“You don’t have to do this, Mick..”

His derisive snort was automatic, a practiced shield, “Yes I do.”

**

Mandy didn’t bring up Ian anymore.

But the man was never far from his mind. 

He thought back to Ian’s words, _You can miss what never was_ , thought about how the right the other man had been, all along.

Mickey didn’t dream much, never had. It didn’t bother him, because the few times he did dream, so far and few in between, Mickey made a point to remember everything. All the sensations, the smells, the taste.

And lately, all his dreams were consumed by Ian. 

The guy showed up at night, in his fantasies, in his daydreams, his thoughts. 

When Mickey made pancakes, when he watched the zombie shit on netflix that Ian talked about, when he rubbed one out in the shower. when he saw people in scrubs.. 

Ian was there. _He was always there._

Mickey saw his face in strangers on the bus, in the streets. 

He was getting used to it, used to the clench in his gut when he saw red hair, the shot of adrenaline that spiked through him before reality set in.

But then one day, one rainy afternoon, as he stepped out of the hardware store Elton ordered all their pieces from, Mickey saw him.

This time, it wasn’t just his mind playing tricks on him.

His heart stuttered for one dangerous moment.

“Ian?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get the ghosting now? 🥺  
> Just 2 dumbasses who genunely care for each other, but are dumb and haven't gotten the chance to openly communicate yet.  
> Don't be mad at Mick, everythnig he doees is what he thinks is in Ian's best intrest. His brand of love is so pure and selfless, he'll always put Ian first.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Xx  
> Let me know what you think! Comments are love. 
> 
> Talk to me over on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mprods)!


End file.
